


The Chicken That Finally Crossed The Fucking Road

by KuVhalla



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Aziraphale deserves a break, Crowley is a fucker, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Issues, Female Reader, Fluff, Gabriel is confused as fuck, Getting used to humanity, God makes a cameo, Happens after the Apocawasn't, Horny Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Mutual Pining, Now the ineffable husbands have a plot on their own, Other, Punning, Rating will change to Matute/Explicit, Reader is an expert at bottling her feelings, Reader-Insert, SO MUCH FLUFF, Shitlord Gabriel, Slice of Life, Smut, This was supposed to be a chill and fun fic but the angst took over, We're going to town with the Archangel but not yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2020-06-26 15:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 133,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19771267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuVhalla/pseuds/KuVhalla
Summary: You've moved out from your homecountry and ended up here in Britain. Life is relatively good, but you need someone asap to occupy that empty room in your apartment. You just can't keep paying it on your own and that sucks big time. Ah, man, maybe a walk in the park can give you some clarity..*.Why him? I mean, he understood why, but come on. Now he has to figure out how to survive and blend in with the humans and that's gross! Why did they take his powers away? Gabriel was so bloody upset..This was NOT how things were suppossed to go.





	1. The Chicken Is Out

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys!  
> .  
> Kuvvy from @kuvvydraws here!  
> .  
> I don't know if you read all those freaking notes I left at the cover page or whatever, but basically I want to bang Gabriel and I want it to be sorta justified???? And I couldn't find any fics about it and now I'm not only thirsty but also salty. I had to take matters into my own hands.  
> .  
> I don't know what happening, but at least something is happening and that's pretty good??? We'll have to work it out.  
> As I said, several times, before, I'm Spanish, not an English native speaker. This is the firts time I attempt to write anything in six years so I'm kinda scared but also very excited?? It's hard to describe.  
> .  
> What I can describe, however, is all the fluff that's going to be happening here! I hated Gabriel since minute one but I also want to hit his face with my mouth softly and lovingly because he's fucked up and a douche and it seems I'm into that.  
> .  
> Also I enjoy very much those fics where half of the time people doesn't know what the hell is going on.

It was very late in the evening; the stars were all out already and you had chosen to take a stroll through the park to clear your mind. You had heard the rumours of the Saint James’ Park being a spectacle during this time of the year and you had to check. The verdict? You were certainly not disappointed. Not a person in sight, excepting the areas surrounding the lake and the people concerned with feeding those fiery birds swimming in the dark waters. While bodies of water and the amount of ducks that had the tendency to accumulate around them unsettled you to no end -there was something intrinsically evil about birds and no one seemed to notice but you-, the little meandering paths covered in gravel that slid under the shades of the trees were perfect to get lost and enjoy some solitude.

You hadn’t been in London for long, two or three months tops, and it was a city full enough of people and accents to satisfy your need to travel all along Europe at once. You weren’t a very social person per se, and thought that moving to the north, far from your Mediterranean origin, would satisfy your slim to no interaction needs while keeping you interested. Small talk you could deal with, and you had learned to blend in the crowds and disappear. It had worked down to a T at first, but the Mediterranean were stubborn as fuck. You wanted to think you grew used to it, but you didn’t. They wanted to talk, and to touch, and to interact, and to find anyone’s deepest, most well-kept secrets within the very first five minutes after meeting someone. To put it short, they were pushy. Affectionate, warm and welcoming, too. But pushy.

You had to deal with college, finish you studies and get those good grades in your pocket... The usual. But right after that moving out was set must.

Where was cheap enough that a person like you, with only the savings that a lame part time job could offer, could go to and not starve within the week? What was interesting? What was close? What seemed nice? Where could you scape from the overbearing sun of justice and the high temperatures?

The United Kingdom came knocking to your door and you had to open. And it had mostly everything? The currency was different, the weather was the absolutely opposite, and the population had worked very hard through the stereotypes to earn a particularly unpleasant reputation towards foreigners.

You had thought, relieved, that you would be fine. Delusional, was more like it.

You were the new attraction in your building, the shiny, young and clumsy neighbour that couldn’t say two words the exact same way and whose accent tended to dance all over the place before just settling into the traditional American pronunciation that was way easier on the tongue. At least you could get that right most of the time.

One would have thought that your obvious problems with the language would have been detriment enough to be granted mercy by the natives. Some slowness in their speech, a clearer vocalization perhaps. What you got, instead, was a big, fat fuck you.

The British, while nowhere near as irritating in their forwardness as your people, clearly loved their small talk. Your personal nightmare. And now, thanks to the same job that kept you alive and relatively well fed, you had to do it for a living. Being a waitress was... It paid the bills. It did. It was enough, it had to be. It had granted you a small apartment with two rooms, a bathroom, an intimate kitchen, the biggest couch that could fit in the tiniest living room and a large set of windows for people watching.

Although a bit expensive for one person living on their own, you made do. Anything to avoid going back home. It was alright most of the time, you did enjoy your solitude and being bundled up in blankets. And you loved not being supervised constantly by your family, hovering around you and checking, and commenting, and criticising, and demanding... It could drive anyone nuts. You were happy, you had your friends a video-call away and you didn’t have to answer to nobody.

It was great.

It was mostly great.

Even you could get lonely. Even you needed some fresh air. A nice outlet, somewhere to stretch your legs and walk and get some new stimuli that Netflix or a book couldn’t provide. And you have always liked parks.

Like the Saint James’.

That’s what brought you out here.

Basking in the sound of the tiny stones crunching under your soles and the humid smell of the air you wandered into the shadows, avoiding the smooching couples until you found a bench, constructed of uncomfortable, forged iron and facing a cosy square. And there you sat, hands snugged inside the pockets of your wool jacket and content with the quiet atmosphere.

You were fine, and all of the sudden, under no previous alert whatsoever, your head started to hurt, a hammering pain that filled your vision with dark spots and white flashes. Definitely threw you off of your rhythm there. It hurt so much you couldn’t even tell if you were breathing any longer. Your ears rang loudly and your mouth dried, teeth clanking while a too sweet taste found its home in your tongue. You yelped and grunted, holding your hands in front of your eyes and pressing hard, hoping it would make the uncomfortableness go away, and you forced your chest to inhale hard some air.

There was a crack. Then some lightning, curiously curling in the middle of the square form high above. And a strong thud.

And then, right in front of you, sharply dressed in the whitest robe you’ve ever seen, stood a man.

* * *

It wasn’t a punishment, they had assured, like, at least five times in a row. The Metatron had been very clear. Insistent, even. An exploratory mission, instead, to learn the reasons and methods of The Traitors to avoid destruction at the hand of the superior forces. He was to be an inside man, discover the secrets humanity was hiding in order to grant immunity to hellfire and holy water and then come back. 

They were, quite obviously, avoiding the talk about the big fiasco that the Apocawasn’t had been; swept it under the carpet, hands washed and get out of that mess as fast as you can. No one wanted to dip their feet in those muddy waters, no sir.

The orders had been set and as soon as he had been dismissed, Gabriel had run – this is just a way to speed up the narration, for no one ran in Heaven; there were hoverboards everywhere, and you could walk, fly and even levitate from room to room if you so desired without anyone giving you a second glance, but no running- to get the first body he could find, not even looking what it was dressed like this time, before he was sent down to the middle ground, on Earth.

He was slightly concerned at the beginning since the paperwork to send someone down was always a burden, no matter who the archangel involved was, and he had been told that the mission was a top secret, most delicate operation. When he had voiced his concerns, they had checked the time, an assured him that humans were already guarded in their brick nests for the dark time before they had sent him, and even with that, there was always the possibility of relocating him in a discrete emplacement, protected from prying eyes.

If something was a standout trait in Gabriel’s personality, it was his faith.

Blind and unquestionable despite the events regarding the Big Plan and the Ineffable Plan and whatnot. He was an angel. He had seen things so wonderful and breath-taking no human, no matter the language, could ever be able to capture in words. Gabriel had absolute faith in the Almighty. She was, after all, his creator and all-knowing, and there was no reason to doubt the information provided.

Where he landed, bare-footed and upright, was a witness though. The creature -the human, he corrected himself- was covering its face with its hands and its body was curled up, with the knees near the torso, and whined in a low, suffering pitch. What a lucky angel he was.

Gabriel couldn’t be bothered by this and stretched the borrowed body, ready to leave the pitiful mortal to its luck; however, he hadn’t taken a step yet when he felt a cold rush of air go through his body that left him trembling and weak. A voice, familiar in its detachment, inserted itself inside his head.

“ _We forgot”_ said the Metatron, tone assertive but neutral “ _, it is imperative that we follow the same procedures the target entities did, so there will be no need for your powers to be put at use.”_

Gabriel’s veins shone brightly in a gold hue and soft sparkles left the tips of his fingers. He had an idea of what was happening and didn’t like it one bit. He fisted his hands hard, digging the nails in the palms, hoping to keep some magical capability trapped in the flesh. He realised, with a shaky breath and trembling arms, that he was scared. Gabriel feared no human, for he was an archangel, and his strength and value didn’t come from his ability to perform magic. But, without barely any notice, Heaven has taken away his only channel to contact them.

His vision twinkled, and he tried to force his eyelids to stay open. His body twitched, his knees buckled. He patted himself, trying to get his bearings; he could feel some divine presence inside him still. He could still perform miracles. He could at least survive. Somehow.

He could manage. If the Traitor Aziraphale had been able to live for six thousand years here on Earth without requesting once a lick of assistance from Heaven, then so could he. He was freaking going to.

Gabriel was alone for the first time in his existence. No Sandalphon to assist him, no Michael to softly point him in the right direction when in doubt, no Uriel to soothe him with confident words.

Gabriel was alone, and weak, almost powerless, and didn’t have a fucking clue on where to start. His situation should be of greater concern, he thought to himself, eyes fluttering closed, his breathing ragged. But, right now, as he felt the dull thuds that running boots approaching his form made on the ground, that concern belonged to future Gabriel.

He was so tired.

* * *

You heard some metallic fumbling, light stuff clicking, and tried to rub your eyes. A hand held your forearm, and it was covered with a plastic glove. Everything smelled sterile yet chemical and it was sickening. You were in a hospital. You knew. The bed was made with tuckered straw, the sheets raspy and the light dim due to a faded drape someone had tried to move to cover the window. At least, the glass was spotless.

With a grunt, the nurse helped you incorporate, face adorned with a polite and careless smile. After getting a confirmation on your name, address and general data as well as how you had ended in the country and at that bloody park, he saw precedent to inform you of how you had arrived to that too white room while adjusting the via that travelled up from a bag of intravenous serum to the crook of your elbow.

“Someone saw the man in the robe, there at the St. James, just collapsed on the floor” he chattered, pointing left towards the colourless curtain that divided the room in two halves “. Hard not to, though; he’s massive. Anyway, how do you feel now? You were unconscious too, over at a bench close to him. The people that called the ambulance thought you two where together, I believe?”

He had a foxy smile now, and while his intentions were good, you are positive, his accent was giving you a headache. He wasn’t British either, and you were struggling to follow his speech, thus getting more and more frustrated with everything.

You cringed, brushing the awful hospital gown they had dressed you with your fingers, and tried not no frown at the nurse guy. “That’s- Listen, I don’t know no man with a dress or whatever. My head just started hurting real bad and I guess I lost it or something. Consciousness, I mean. I’m not crazy or anything. Did you- There must be some tests I can- To check if I’m going to be okay, you know?”

He patted your arm gently again. “We already checked, and everything is A-Okay, you just had a really bad episode of low-pressure blood. You have been here the whole night, monitored” he pointed at a few beeping machines at the side “, so we could make sure that it was just a sporadic event and nothing serious. It was the first time it happened to you, I presume?” You nodded and so did he, reaching a board that hung at the front of your bed and writing something down. “I guess it does not run in the family either? Have you been eating correctly? Stress due to work?”

You answered his questions, tired and hungry. “They people that brought the man and me here... Are they still around? I want to thank them if possible-”

“Sorry, they left right after the ambulance picked you guys up.” He clapped his hands softly “. I have to keep up with my rounds” he said “, but don’t worry, I’ll leave you here with Mr. Tall and Handsome. Maybe you two can figure out what’s going on.” He moved the curtain, and waved at you, half-body already out of the door “. In a few minutes, someone will come and bring you food. We need you well nourished! If your condition doesn’t worsen, you will be discharged this evening.”

And the door clicked shut. About half an hour later, another nurse came by, gave you a metallic tray with what she said was food and busied herself checking out the man on the other bed. You were sure there was no medical reason that could justify her rubbing his arms that much. When you were done, read: you couldn’t choke down any more of that glorified pile of sludge, the nurse freed you with a painful yank from the via in your arm and left you alone to watch the paint in the ceiling peel off by itself.

There was no clock in the room, and you were going insane. It’s been hours, you were sure, but the daylight in London was a scam and whatever could penetrate the rag at the window told you nothing.

You had had enough time to think about him -the unconscious man laying on that other lame bed- and to observe him while he slept, no creeping intended. You just didn’t have anything else to do. Square jaw, clean and shaved face, short hair and a body well built, the only thing that proved you he didn’t have his shit put together as well as he would have liked was his expression. The eyes were hollow and with deep, dark bags underneath, and his lips were settled in an uncomfortable grimace. He had the appearance any successful CEO would have, not counting the Hollywood ones.

Yet he had something. Something you couldn’t point. A feeling that he was too... much? Better. Warmer. Just higher? It was the same feeling you got when you looked down from a too high place, you could see everything, you had access to anything, and yet you knew you shouldn’t be there.

He grunted and his eyelids twitched, and you pressed the button to call the staff so a nurse could take care of him.

The next twenty minutes were difficult for everyone. The guy refused to give his full name no matter what the nurse said. He squinted at everything, glared down at any gestures or approaches the staff would make to his via and tensed visibly when anyone got too close to his personal bubble. His voice was polite yet clipped, and he was being unreasonably uncooperative.

The few things he said came from the mouth of the stereotyped, insufferable boss that always knew better. He was massive alright, you thought, a massive dick. He was frowning the same way a man that didn’t like to do did, and then, by accident, his eyes met yours. It was only a second and then he was back to his silent treatment for the nurses. You scrunched your face and looked away reluctantly.

The bastard had the most gorgeous pair of eyes you had seen in your entire life. And he was hot. And the nurse from before was right about his arms. His arms were very nice.

Not soon enough, the room cleared, one of the three nurses that had ended in the previous mess handling the man, in a very unprofessional way, a tray with the same food you had been given.

He cranked his neck and it popped, and he grunted again, eyes still fixed at the door.

You clicked you tongue, looking in the same direction. “It can be hard, being hovered over like that. Not everybody likes it, but nurses can be a bit too stubborn.”

* * *

Gabriel didn’t answer to no authority but God’s. Those mortals -those humans- thought they could put him in a sinking surface and stab him and then try to gather information from him? Tough luck. They were close, too close, and he really didn’t want to react in a way that could harm them, but they needed to step away. Now.

Gabriel was a social butterfly. He was a big fish up in Heaven. There were always angels around him, listening to his words, answering to him, asking him questions. He was one of God’s best archangels, and he was nurturing and caring by nature.

He loved. He loved a lot, in general.

And he was soft; he meant no harm to any creature, for all of them were God’s work -the Apocawasn’t was a different thing, there were categories and obviously humans weren’t a priority in that topic. But he loved humans, nonetheless. The same way one would love a fish in the ocean, or a fly, or a rooting cactus.

Yet those humans dressed in blue sacks were worthy of less and less love by the second.

Then you spoke. And you were right. He glanced at you, recognized you from the park and curled his mouth in a displeased gesture when his body protested at the general movement that was going on. You gave him a sympathetic smile when he looked down to that metallic thing that had been thrown at him. There was a blob in there made of unidentified matter.

“It’s gross” you said as a warning, half laughing but with a lot of feeling.

“It does look outstandingly gross.”

Gabriel didn’t do well with food. Just thinking about the process made him nauseous. All that chewing and swallowing... and the expulsion bit was stomach-lurching. It was so unnecessary. Humans were disgusting. And now he needed it, because his body had lost almost all its connection with Heaven and the only other way to nourish it was this... This.

You cleared you throat, and he fixed his eyes again on you. You pointed at the plastic tube that connected his arm to a bag of clear liquid. “They had us fed with the serum so you can probably hold up for a few more hours until you find something better.”

You smiled again and Gabriel felt a bit better. Smiles, he could handle. He smiled back, putting the tray away, trying very hard not to look at it. “So, do you recall anything about what happened? How were we transported to this location? Do you have access to that information?”

You face lit up a second too late. And then you emitted a soft, thrilled sound. “God! You _are_ Heaven sent!”

Gabriel stopped breathing.

No.

Fuck no.

No, no, no, no. No. Come on. He couldn’t have blown it up just yet! He had done the ‘stopping by the Earth to say hi’ thing for years now! How, in the name of the Almighty, had you-!

“I beg your pardon?” He articulated through gritted teeth, trying his hardest not to change his facial expression or show any kind of tell with his body language. Come on, you were a human, you were as stupid as they come!

“Your accent!” You were giddy and it was sending the archangel mixed signals. You were not freaking out, which was good, but had totally obliterated his purpose on Earth, which was, well, terrible. “You are not from here, are you?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more precise.”

“Are you not from the States? I-” You hesitated, and Gabriel saw his chance “. I thought you could be from there, you know? Sorry if I...”

“Do not apologize. It is far from here, but no one had pointed it out to me just yet. You are certainly right, of course.” This was more like it, with situations like this Gabriel could cope. It was ok, everything was ok. His cover was still up, and now he, master of improvisation, had made an ally. What a dull creature you were, but with so much potential!

And then you started asking questions. Gabriel beamed, he loved questions; he loved proving how useful he actually was, how accurate was God when she created him, how ready he was to fulfil his place and role in the Great Scheme. And you weren’t like those blue sack-nurse people, you were asking, not _questioning._ You weren’t doubting him. And you smiled. Smiles were always good, always a bonus.

You started asking him about his job, about it being a business, a big company. He said yes. Then you started talking about his family, which he didn’t have; his name, which he gave to you; his purpose in the city... And before he could answer you made a very curious noise.

You snorted. “Ah, I bet you could be part of one of those Reality TV shows where a rich CEO learns how to live the life of us poor commoners! You know, left to your luck to survive and wander around as lost as an octopus in a garage!”

You laughed, very hard. Gabriel started sweating.

“What if I told you” Gabriel licked his lips and tested his luck “that you are correct.”

You snorted again “. Yeah, alright. You won’t get me with that one, man. I’m not that dumb.”

He made a conciliatory gesture with his hands, open and with the palms facing you: no truth to hide, as humans assumed. How simple.

“You are free to believe what you desire. On another note, do you perhaps possess a nest?”

“A what?”

“A nest” he repeated kindly, not bothered for a second “. You are human, yes?”

“Yeah, been for a while.”

“You humans nest during the night, yes? As far as I know, they are made of bricks... A place of residence. Do you possess a place of residence?”

“Are you talking about houses?” Gabriel nodded towards you eagerly “. Yes, I do? An apartment, actually.”

“Fantastic.”


	2. Basically Chicken Scratch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The very first months. You get used to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! This is chapter two, and again it's a bit introductory. Very full with descriptions and all that. I'm not very good with dialogues and it shows.  
> I'm trying tho. I hope the next one will be a bit better regarding that.  
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it!

Having someone move in with you within a day was an adventure, and one you wouldn’t want to partake in ever again.

The easy part was the talk with your landlady, and the woman was happy that you were no longer living on your own with how dangerous London was for young people like you, gullible and vulnerable; her words, not yours. Her husband, on the other hand, found heavily immoral that your roommate was a man and that you both were single, and he made sure his opinion was listened by the whole neighbourhood.

One would say that dealing with the people responsible of your housing was the difficult part. It was a difficult part indeed, just not the only one.

Dealing with Gabriel was a Whole Thing on its own.

You know those old people that have a hard time coping with technology and new stuff and just complain when nothing goes their way? That was Gabriel. While eager to learn, he behaved like every object was invented yesterday and everyone in the world got together in a secret meeting to learn how to handle it just so hey could spite him. You were sure he believed all the blenders from all the kitchens in the world were out there to get him. At least he was polite about it.

Having him moving in was a poltergeist experience. He had no problem with the flat’s layout, and you, expecting some snide comment from his rich ass about your minuscule place of residence, felt much more at ease. The issue with his wardrobe was a bit more pressing. He had nothing but the clothing he was wearing the day you two had met, and that was more like a Trojan costume for a thematic party than anything else. It did match his old-fashioned aura and reinforced that feeling you had about him not belonging to any era in history, but that was about it.

“Oh, the wardrobe shall be no problem at all” he said pleasantly. The very next day, when you came from work, he had his closet filled with the most expensive, most comfortable outfits you had seen in your whole life. Bitch clearly had in his possession a money tree.

He wanted, he had told you just after settling in, the whole commoner experience. If you translate that into poor dialect, it meant that you had to accompany him to get every piece of the top-notch technology available at the market. He was slightly familiar with cell phones and tablets, but computers turned out to be far trickier for him.

He said he desired to start from point zero and you had no idea, at first, about what that implied. After seeing him fumble with the keyboard of his shiny new smartphone, you concluded that the guy didn’t even know what YouTube was. You wished you’d had a camera at hand when you had showed him, because his expression was priceless.

A puppy with a new squeaky toy wouldn’t had been more excited.

He also had the tendency to call you ‘human’ or ‘mortal’ instead of your name. You found this to be hilarious. He would add some dumb adjectives in front of it and seriously, it was like watching a pair of too sweet teens figuring out nicknames fused in one big, clueless businessman. His favourite so far was calling you ‘tiny’. Kind of unfair, yet very fair at the same time, since the top of your head barely brushed his shoulder.

Cohabitating with Gabriel was easy, unsurprisingly. The moment he had learnt how the vacuum and the mop worked, your stress about the house being indecent midweek flew out of the window. Gabriel found great pleasure in organizing things. You had agreed on a common budget for food too, instead of separating the shelves inside the fridge and he had classified all the groceries by alphabetical and nutritional order. Of course, to be functional, you two now had to cook together.

Gabriel had obvious issues with food. It was clear that he did not enjoy eating. The cooking process was another talk altogether though. It implied following established steps, times and measurements, and he had even bought a colourful apron for, what he said, was the proper attitude and mind set for cooking.

That sentence, coming from the mouth of a man that hadn’t known what a whisk was three minutes prior, made you cry in laughter.

* * *

You were incredibly useful, Gabriel discovered. Not only willing to provide with all the bothersome necessities his body now had, but with living quarters and explanations about what happened around him

It had been a long time since Gabriel had had to stay on Earth for more than a few hours, and the world had evolved in ways he couldn’t always comprehend. Things were faster, noisier or more silent, everywhere he went was crowded with people and the air smelled weird, congested his nose and, in some occasions, when he was too close to the back of a car of bus, it irritated his eyes.

He was still getting used to the body, to the sensations and nerves and strange inner reactions and noises it would make. Being so far from divinity had also taken a toll on him, and due the forced tiredness he had to lay down on a bed -his bed now- and sleep. He wasn’t sure he liked sleeping. He didn’t dislike it per se, but he was aware that his surrounding were not part the real world, and that time was a mockery. He would remember moments of his angelic existence, mostly, but also dreamed with new, made up, things. He wasn’t sure he was comfortable with that.

He didn’t sleep every night and would spend his time reading or watching videos. You had books all over the flat, as if a library had exploded in the centre of the room. Some were in English, some were not. Those fascinated Gabriel. He could guess the general intentions when in a conversation with someone no matter the language, but reading was another matter. You also had no preference about topics, and the novels, encyclopaedias, dictionaries and collections of poems would mixt with the astronomy, art and engineering books right under the pot of that thick leaved plant you had growing near the windows. After thoroughly dusting the area, Gabriel found the mess didn’t bother him that much.

The nights he did sleep were not always good. He would wake up covered in cold sweat, a scream choked inside his throat and his body painfully taut or trembling uncontrollably. He tried to be silent. As an Archangel, he feared nothing, and no stupid machination the human world would make him stutter. The pictures of Hell affected him differently though. So he kept quiet. He took a shower every time, scrubbing hard, and by the time he was done and, on his way, to rest on the ugly couch at the living room, the light of the kitchen would already be lit.

You sat with him every time, at his left so you wouldn’t obstruct the view from the window and handed him a mug with tea. He never looked at you, and you never spoke a word.

Gabriel tried to keep his body strong, now more than ever. His lack of celestial influence was no excuse to grow soft, and he had created an exercise routine. He woke up at sunrise everyday and went for a run, and then followed some exercises before showering. You usually emerged from your room at that time, clad in pyjamas, shoved your feet in some ugly and ragged trainers Gabriel refused to even look at, put on a jacket and went to the coffee shop on the opposite side of the street to fetch some coffee. You always brought the same tea for yourself, claiming you had a delicate stomach at such an early time, but Gabriel’s beverage changed everyday. He was starting to pick some favourites.

You went to work daily, too, and returned very late in the evening. Your shifts were scheduled oddly, and you spent the majority of the day out. Gabriel was social by nature, and, while his purpose on Earth was to learn, he had to do it from real experience, not only books. So he took his tablet -you had bought him a protector for it decorated with a pair of what humans thought were angel wings, and Gabriel didn’t now if to laugh or to cringe, although he thanked you nonetheless-, a notebook, some far too expensive pen and a book, and went outside to read or take annotations on particular behaviours.

He was always home by the time you arrived, exhausted, from work.

* * *

You groaned; every step of the stair high as a mountain. You lived on the last floor, the fifth, in the building. You just climbed up to the first one. Life was a terrible thing. By the time you reached upstairs, you were panting like a congested fifteen-year old bulldog, and you bag-pack weighted a ton of bricks.

You crossed the doorway, kicked your shoes to one side -Gabriel would have your head for it-, the bag to the other, and face planted on the couch, the armrest digging sharply in your stomach. Gabriel, sitting straight as a broomstick on the other side of the cushions yet looking incredibly comfortable at the same time, gave you a sideways glance before returning to his book briefly to dogear it. On his lap rested his faithful notebook.

“I see you have returned. How was work today?”

He was like a therapist at his hour. He let you ramble while going to close the door. It’s not like he could understand you, your face buried in the fabric as it was, you socked feet on the air. This time, you just grunted. It’s been a lot like that recently.

“I’m in severe pain at this very moment” you whined, not daring to move a muscle “. And I’m hungry too.”

Your arms were heavy, and so were your legs, like you had attached weights to them and then went to win a marathon. Existing was a bit too much right now; for some reason, the restaurant you worked at had gotten surprisingly popular in a very short time, and the clients wouldn’t top coming. You were stressed every second of it, now not having time to even joke or chat with your co-workers between servings. Everyone but the manager was jumpy, and grumpy and the bad mood in the atmosphere increased with each passing day. The cooks at the back would bark at you waiters for being two seconds too late, and today you had slipped with something -you swore it had been that damned child from table seven throwing a spoon full of ice-cream at your feet- and landed heavily on your wrist. You hadn’t twisted it by pure luck, but it still ached, and an ugly, throbbing, purplish mark had found its home in the area.

You saw Gabriel’s white crocs pass in front of your face -the best fucking purchase you had convinced someone to make- and he handed you a kitchen towel with ice. He was a businessman in his own house too, dressed sharp and elegantly. A month after becoming roomies and you hadn’t seen him in pyjamas yet. You drew the line at some point though, and it was located at the exact time you had noticed he would wear formal shoes even inside. Getting him to discard his scarf and coat hadn’t been that hard.

Gabriel claimed the crocs were the ugliest thing he had the disgrace to glaze upon. You had agreed wholeheartedly. They were too white, and the creator had decided to sprinkle holographic glitter on them too. They were positively horrid. And you had been dying to see Gabriel wear them.

Poor Gabriel, bless his soul, had obliged. He had forced you to buy what he considered the most atrocious thing in the store besides his new shoes. It was socks. Fluffy, sprinkled with pancakes and the face of the Grinch -of all things to put with pancakes- all over and you had fell in love. You only put them inside the house, and Gabriel cringed every time he would mistakenly look at your feet now.

For someone with Gabriel’s sense of style, your mere existence was abhorrent. It was not that your fashion inclinations were all over the place, it was that you had sold them for a chewed corn chip at the flea market on a Sunday afternoon. He had seen you in pyjamas, in teared pants, in shirts with corny messages and in those puke inducing socks, among other atrocities.

Right now, bent over the sofa, you were wearing what Gabriel believed to be your best clothes. You had an oversized hoodie -you had thousands of those, Gabriel believed- from which neck protruded the white collar of a dress shirt, your previously pleaded pants, now wrinkled, still maintained the ironed fold somehow, but your socks showed now two holes, one each, at the front part. You would have to throw them out again. You destroyed a pair every two weeks and Gabriel was sure half of your income was sorely designated to acquire socks.

He cleared his throat and you sent him your deadliest glare. Gabriel stood there, unaffected, hands comfortably resting in the pockets of his pants. On the crook of his elbow hung his apron. “It’s dinner time” he said “. Go change, we have soup tonight. I’ve bought onions, and eggs and bread.”

You had told him about your mom’s recipe a week ago. Gabriel, a big hater of anything more solid that jelly, had discovered the metaphorical Garden of Wonders in soup. He loved soup. He locked eyes with you and made a show of putting his apron on. You grunted again and stood, heading tiredly to your room to change. You would shower after dinner.

Cooking was methodical -Gabriel wasn’t very fond of physical contact and you always kept enough distance as not to make him uncomfortable- and an actual approach at conversation. You did get some commentary on anecdotes that happened today while Gabriel chopped veggies with a surgeon’s accuracy. He always pointed that he wanted to listen, learn about what people did with their dull lives and whatnot.

Gabriel made sure to have time to listen to you. He never, ever, made you feel dumb for mispronouncing a word and would always give you helpful tips with grammar. You appreciated it immensely. You would be reading, wouldn’t understand a term and he gladly explained it to you, or spelled a word you didn’t catch right from TV and, in short, let you ramble and corrected your grammar whenever you had a question about anything.

You were so fucking grateful for having him.

You weren’t anxious or self-conscious about your language skills around him. You didn’t have to be on guard 24/7 because of judgement and you didn’t have to worry about him laughing at you behind your back. He was far too good for that. Had he not been a snarky, rich bitch, you would’ve thought him an angel of sorts.

_Angel or not_ , you thought looking at him, _he’s dumb as fuck_.

The aforementioned angel had just taken a huge bite out of a red onion and now his eyes were, quote-unquote, ‘leaking’. His face was getting very red.

You ran to get him a glass of water.

* * *

Gabriel thought he would feel lonely here on Earth, or bored. He had a lot of labours up in Heaven, very important duties. He was sure Michael was now taking care of them, but he felt kind of bad for relying so much on her. Upstairs decision or not, Michael had her own duties too. He hoped Sandalphon was helping her.

As an Archangel, he was basically the representative for the Higher Powers among the other, lesser angels. He was to assign protocols, check the security and make sure that everything in Heaven, from the upper spheres to the organization and distribution of newly arrived souls ran smoothly. He was very good at his job and took pride in its effectiveness.

He had had to find new people to be around daily now, during your absence. Coffee shops and little restaurants were his usual spots to find a loner human willing to share a conversation, no matter the age or gender or whatever -Gabriel wasn’t very sure what gender was, but many humans seemed to believe it was a huge thing or something, and after some well aged people screamed at him for indecency and tried to call him out for his sins, which he _did not_ have, he had decided that it was better to leave some topics untouched.

He had not felt that necessity with you yet. You relied on him when you had doubts and random things to ask about anything and it felt him feel so fucking appreciated it was unbelievable. From the simplest of questions regarding his day -you always made a point to ask him about his day, even if his routine was always the same- to you screaming his name so he would come ad watch a cool thing on a video or a show you thought he could be interested in.

Half of the time, Gabriel didn’t know what you were talking about, and you would pause the video and explain the general context to him, which would cause a new landside of questions and, maybe, three hours later, you would return to the original topic. That didn’t happen most of the time, but it didn’t seem to bother either of you.

Existence on Earth wasn’t as shabby as he would have thought it to be.

It was kind of... tolerable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it? I hope you liked it!
> 
> I you guys want to see a particular scene just let me know and I'll do my best to make it real.
> 
> Also, I'm very gratefull for the people that commented in the last chapter. I had a horrid week (some asshole stole a hundred euros from me and another two hundred from a co-worker and we haven't been able to catch them yet, and it took away all my inspiration and writing mood) and seen that you guys ejoyed it and left comments to let me know made my day better.
> 
> (Since I'll be using this story as a catharsis, you'll learn about that and other incidents that happen at my work place, because I follow no ethic when writing)


	3. Take The Chicken Out Fow Walksies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deeper look at your shitty work life and what are you ready to do to fix it. Spoilers: fuck pretending to be a native and let's tourist away!  
> Gabriel is tagging along because is not like he has another option or anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! 
> 
> I want to thank you guys so very much for your kind comments, they give me life!
> 
> Enjoy the reading and I'll see you at the end of the chapter!

Things always worked out -let’s not talk about the Armagedidn’t here, there’s no need for it- the way Gabriel wanted them to. They bended to his will naturally. Organization was another hobby of his. In general, giving things or people places to be or duties to execute. He was very good at it. So, following that logic, in his routine there was no room possible for surprises to happen. Surprises were a nasty, unwanted inconvenience. That didn’t mean he wasn’t ready for them. ‘One can never be prepared enough’, he liked to say.

He was always prepared for anything.

And then you came and, like a wrecking ball, shattered his plans. Extraordinarily rude of you.

That kind of unstructured bullshit was happening right at this very moment.

He was worried sick. It was midnight a there was no sign of you. He paced the flat from side to side, grumbling to himself. Some nights, on the weekends, you’d leave the house and go to hang out with acquaintances of yours, but you always told him where and with who you were going. You also texted him when you were leaving the place, if you were going to stay longer or if you were spending the night somewhere else.

“Safety measures”, you had said. And jokingly, had added: “If I go missing, the police won’t be blaming you for murdering and hurling my corpse through the window.”

Gabriel hadn’t found it amusing for a fucking second. “I will have you know I’m way above murder. That’s a _sin_ ” he scoffed, deeply offended.

“It’s a joke, Gabe. Chill out.”

“Certainly not a funny one.”

In revenge for him calling you, in short -pun not intended- a fun size every time he addressed you not using your name, you had opted for vandalizing his own. Gabe, Gabo, Gaby, G or just plainly Big Guy of Mr. Bossypants were you favourite this week. No matter how much Gabriel protested, you had kindly assured him that as long as he refused to use your name then so would you do with his. Gabriel was a stubborn little shit though, so the war was still ongoing. Prideful fuck. He now had your contact saved as _The_ _Midget_ in his phone and had programmed it to sing The Hobbit’s OST every time you called. He knew there was a joke in there, but he didn’t know what it was. Yet.

One in the morning came and left.

Gabriel started stress-cleaning.

He would have gone for a run to relax, but what if you returned? What if you didn’t? He couldn’t just leave the flat. He could go out and looking for you. But that would imply _leaving the flat_. Which he couldn’t do. Plan aborted; he went to change from his sport gear and came back to mark the floor with the silhouette of his stupid sparkly crocs. He could see the light colour of his socks through the holes on the top part. The Devil’s in the details, after all. Fuck the irony.

At two thirty, his phone pinged. Gabriel twisted fast on his toes and launched himself over the kitchen table to get it. It was you.

**_The Midget:_ ** _I’m still alive, I think :/_

**_The Midget:_ ** _How was ur day?????_

**_The Midget:_ ** _I’ll be home in bout 10_

**_The Midget:_ ** _U better had eaten dinner >:[_

**_The Midget:_ ** _If u hadn’t, I’ll beat u up w my sweaty socks i warn u_

Consistency shone brightly in its absence; Gabriel concluded. Exchanging text messages with you was always a pain in his angelic butt. You liked to use pictures and weird yellow faces and something you called ‘emoticons. Honestly, it was easier just not trying to understand it and follow the flow. At least it appeared no harm had come your way. Gabriel untangled the scarf around his neck, reading again the messages. He wasn’t going to kill you alright, but not even God herself could save you from the mighty earful you were going to get the moment you crossed the entrance.

The lock at the door clicked and you dragged your bag, your feet and your entire body inside the flat. You didn’t even acknowledge Gabriel imposing figure casting its massive shadow from the hall. Without dropping anything and mostly in autopilot you slumped in one of the chairs in the kitchen.

Gabriel scrunched his nose, unfolding his arms, and went to take the bag from your clammy hands. Somehow, the reprimand needed to be cancelled. You looked the worse for wear, smelt like sweat – yours and a lot of people’s, he noticed with repulsion- and, in general, you wouldn’t look better if a carriage had run you over twice.

Before he could comment anything, you elevated your arm -articulations snapping loudly- and tried to formulate some words. It took you three tries to get it right. “God, I stink.”

“Yes. Very much” Gabriel confirmed nonchalantly. He pointed at his phone’s screen; your conversation still open “. Did _you_ eat anything at all today?” 

“Breakfast.”

“At six in the morning.” You clicked your tongue. Gabriel had just enabled the Dad Voice. You hated the Dad Voice and he knew it. It made you feel inadequate and like you were fifteen again.

You rolled your eyes and even that hurt and tried to remember “. I munched on some bread at seven” your tone was uncertain, careless and very, very tired. You hooked a finger around one of his belt loops to stop him from going anywhere, anticipating his movements “. I really don’t want to eat anything, thanks tho.”

Since Gabriel’s moved in, your eating habits had become impeccable, and not exactly by choice. You used to skip dinner and had a crappy breakfast during workdays, but now the glorified health nut made sure that your nutrition was adequate whether you liked it or not. You saw the storm coming a mile away this time.

“You can’t go to sleep without ingesting anything-”

“If I try to ‘ingest anything’ I’m gonna barf all over the floor.”

Looking up, you encountered Gabriel’s displeased gesture, purple eyes glowing like ambers and face set in a stone-like grimace. That was a cheap trick, using his disgust with human digesting processes and his, what you called, ‘cleaning kink’. He didn’t know what that was, but right after you laughed you recommended him not to look it up and he decided to listen to your words that time.

“It seems you are going to fall asleep here in the middle of the kitchen.”

“Not too far from the truth.”

You had a weak smile on your lips while you forced your body to stand up and tumble in the general direction of your room. You bid him a good night of rest and forgot to close your door. He heard your body collapse on the bed with a heavy but muted thud. Then your slow breathing.

Gabriel said nothing, but he squinted.

You were limping slightly -just enough to be noticeable-, and still wearing your working clothes, uncomfortable shoes included, when you entered your living quarters. There was not a hoodie in sight.

* * *

You woke up at midday the next day and, before anything else, you grabbed one gigantic sweater, some underwear and went to pee and shower. Discarding your white shirt, you brought it up to your face and performed the sniff test. Big ass mistake, bud.

“Eurgh.” It smelt like a garbage truck had dropped you home last night. You shoved everything inside the dirty laundry basket labelled with your name and jumped into the shower, cursing the cold water through gritted teeth.

Gabriel had already started his day and camped in the living room, immersed in a religious art book. On the kitchen table rested a familiar cup of tea and a plate of scrambled eggs, both now gone cold.

“Good morning.”

“Afternoon, rather. It’s thirty past one already. I thought you were hibernating in there” He turned the page and his eyebrows rose up. Then he snorted. Few and far in between were the times Gabriel showed emotions -beyond irritation- out loud, and the sound dragged you immediately to the couch instead of the food. You looked at the book over his shoulder.

“What’s the secret joke, big guy?”

“Are we looking at the same-” he interrupted himself, covering his mouth with a hand. He snorted _again._ What in hell was he looking at-?

It was a statue of an angel. Curly hair in the wind and a metal sword grasped in one hand, the other menacingly pointing down to the ground. Suddenly the book dropped and landed on Gabriel’s lap.

You looked at Gabriel straight in the face, but you couldn’t see it because he had covered it with both his hands. He was _giggling._ Mercilessly, you took a picture, not even bothering to be sneaky about it. Gabriel was now laughing so loudly it drowned the click of your phone’s camera.

You had never seen Gabriel laugh, much less this hard. Exhalations of air to express amusement or dismissal, sneers, simpers, even smirks, you knew them all. Booming laughter, full on guffawing? That was a new one. And it was rich and raucous, so intense that despite him curling into a ball his shoulders still shook like a boat in a storm.

The feeling about Gabriel being too good for humanity hit you again like a baseball bat aimed at your head, and when it made contact you realised laughing Gabriel was like looking at the sun. It didn’t burn but filled you with a heart-warming sensation hard to describe. 

Gabriel clapped his hands once or twice, his body still shaking with residual humour and chuckling. He looked at you, aware of your presence behind him, and his amusement slowly disappeared. You were perched on top of the sofa’s back rest, one leg dandling over it, eyes big as saucers and a beaming expression on your face. It was directed at him.

Gabriel cleared his throat and recovered the book, a tad embarrassed and trying his best not to acknowledge you.

“No, no, no” you interrupted him, full on jumping on the couch “. You have to tell me now what’s so funny about the picture!”

“One could think that I might have overreacted-”

“Come on, G!” you whined, pouting “. You gotta say it!”

Gabriel pointed at the picture, the imposing angel with the furious face still there. “This” he said, hesitant “is supposed to be Archangel Michael.” He was waiting for you to lose interest and leave, but you weren’t giving him an out here, you _wanted_ to know “. So, uh, the most outstanding of Michael’s achievements is, according to the Bible, is to lead Heaven’s Army against the rebellious demons from Hell.”

“Aha” Gabriel was expecting some half-assed answer or only a noise of recognition, but it seemed you were fully invested in his explanation. It reassured him, sort of, that you were listening to his words so intently.

“There are some- well, several problems here. Just looking at the style, it’s quite obvious, don’t you think? The statue is wearing a robe. Very beautiful, majestic, it shows the skills of the crafter, but to go battle? I don’t think so. Angel- Archangel or not, a demonic blade can still cut through a celestial body, wearing a robe is like offering yourself to be butchered! Then, the sword. It’s like a tiny needle. You can’t slay your enemies with something Satan could use as a toothpick- “

The longer you paid attention, the more comfortable Gabriel felt bitching about art. You were loving it. He started moving his arms, making gestures, sword attacks or whatever, just expressing himself freely. The dude was, for the first time in five months, rambling his head off. You had watched a John Mulaney’s monologue a week before and now he was mimicking his comedic style and intonation, probably unintentionally, and it was killing you.

“-the worst part! The worst part of all of this cumulous of disasters is Michael herself!” he was snickering again at this point, no longer looking at the picture “. It’s just so painfully ridiculous to associate a gender with angels. Gender? I mean, you cannot be serious about this! Gender! Michael is an Archangel! Gender is frivolous in the celestial spheres. Even if it wasn’t, Michael is known for always choosing a female human presenting appearance. The sculptor had no business in just deciding how they should represent celestial forces! The bigotry humankind exhibits never ceases to amaze and disturb me!”

You had lunch together, still bantering about the stupid statue. It was a very pleasant meal.

“Y’know? I have until next Friday free. The workload this week was insane, and the manager gave some of us a well-deserved break.”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been arriving in the early hours lately” frowned Gabriel, picking at his pasta salad.

“Yeah, turns out the big boss upstairs” Gabriel cringed for a split second “had invested their time in passing us waiters around like monopoly currency to a catering company? Weird stuff, I’m pretty sure it’s not entirely legal either. The thing is, servicing in events and weddings and all that shit is way more lucrative that being at the restaurant for everyone; the downside is its fucking exhausting. We reached an agreement though, so now we can choose a week beforehand if we want to participate in the catering or the restaurant stuff.” You slurped noisily through a colourful straw the liquid yogurt you had saved in the fridge and Gabriel sent you a nasty glare. You winked back.

“What you are saying is that your employer gave you a week and a half to rest because they had been overworking you and your workmates in a way stablished law punishes yet it had gone unnoticed by higher authorities.”

“Roughly, yes.”

Gabriel’s lips curled in disagreement. He had seen during lunch in which state you were, and the verdict was a big, fat ‘not good’. Your body appeared to be made with badly connected sections that scrapped against each other when you moved, and you groaned every time any muscle stretched a bit too far. “That’s revolting.”

“We’re well past that, my dude. My point is” you slurped again and then coughed, having finished your drink “we should go to a museum or something. Or a church. I bet you know a shit-ton about religious stuff.”

“You wouldn’t be too far off” Gabriel smirked to himself, amused. Inner joke, you assumed.

“So? Get out of here, some fresh air in the face, tourists all over the place. We could explore London, right? Camden Town, the Soho, Piccadilly... Like a day trip.” You were getting excited; Gabriel could tell sorely on the frantic leg swinging that was going on under the table. “We could go to the zoo! I’ve heard it’s really close by.”

And plans were made. You went to bed early that day, a skip in your step.

Gabriel would never confess that he was a bit excited too.

* * *

Picture London, at 10 in the morning, around the Clock Tower area. The place is clogged with tourists, the sun shines hard for the first time in two years and its summer. You had packed water bottles, a cap as wide at the Sahara Dessert and sunglasses. The weather is hot, not a London dweller in sight because they know better that this, and everyone around you is sweating so copiously you were swimming between their bodies instead of walking.

You had picked a straps-shirt, some feather-light, thin-as-spider-web overalls because fuck pants in this weather and some plastic sandals. It was so bad today the road was melting the soles and the plastic around your feet felt clammy.

There are some things inheritably human, like tripping twice with the same stone and then hurling it against a wall out of pure frustration only for it to bounce back and hit you in the face. Other things, like flipping the bird when an asshole tailgates you while driving and cursing all of their ancestors’ pets, are learnt through time. Experiences are the way people had managed to survive despite the environmental inconveniences, after all.

Coming from a Mediterranean country, you knew what to do in this kind of hellish nightmare. You had your protocols for people swarming, well studied and fool proof. You had learnt to walk with your elbows pointing outwards, a fan in one hand and the other wiping your face clean off sweat. 

At your side, standing in the middle of the crowd like a fucking alien, was Gabriel. There was no natural force that could shed that bloody long-ass coat off him. You had tried to strangulate him alive the moment you had seen him with the satin scarf around his neck.

“G, you’re going to fucking die out there!”

“Please, refrain from forcing your woeful human mortality upon me.”

He was so full of shit you were going to smack him with a shovel.

You kicked your way through the streets, parting the tourists like Moses with the Red Sea, while Gabriel strolled comfortably at your side like the cloaked skyscraper he was, no one daring to obstruct his path. You thought it was due to his massive form, even more imposing if possible when compared to your tininess at his side, but the real thing was that he was glaring down anyone foolish enough to dare approach him. Tourists or not, death-stares were international and beyond worlds.

That allowed you two to visit the Dungeon’s and London’s Eye mostly untroubled, although you had to resort to hiding behind Gabriel so you could see Westminster Abbey and the Palace. Not many religious stuff to ramble about, but Gabriel had been absorbing all the information the London guides you had bought when you first arrived at Britain had to offer, and it was like you had your own, private History teacher.

He had also made a few sarcastic jabs about you not wearing a hoodie, which you had answered in kind, effectively tripping him while he walked. Now, every time he addressed you, he would made a show of parading around to stop in front of you, blocking your path, and pronouncedly bending his knees, hands firmly settled on his thighs as to talk you face to face, smiling wide as the Tames was fast-flowing.

“Knock it off, Capitan Shoulderboulder” you, rubbed your red face, exasperated with the heat on the streets. Gabriel pointedly scratched his cheek, not a sign of sweat on him and looking fresh as a lettuce out of the fridge. “Let’s go find somewhere to have lunch or whatever.”

“Giving up already, I see. Worry not, I will not hold it against you, it’s only normal and natural that you give up trying to surpass supreme beings such as myself.”

Cocky bastard. “Oh, you supreme being” Gabriel smirked, plenty satisfied “, since you are so good and rich and better in any and all ways, you’re paying for lunch and we’re going to the Soho. I’m having a feast.”

“If we must.”

* * *

The food was good as it was expensive, but that must had been the ‘gourmet’ part of the sandwich. You were full and with a happy stomach, and Gabriel nonchalantly pulled his money trick. It was old stuff by now, at least for you. Everyone in the supermarket lost his shit every time he would insert his hand in the inner pocket of his coat and bring out the exact number of pounds necessary for the purchase. Again, you were beyond that now. It’s not like you had spent nights staring at the ceiling trying to figure out how the fuck did he get it right every single time.

The Soho was beautiful, streets defined by the profile of centuries old buildings and faded down businesses. You loved every time a gold detail would sparkle in the daylight. The streets were narrower as well, and casted a welcoming shadow, and the driving rules seemed lost to both pedestrians and drivers, the limits between road and pavement unimportant.

The more you walked, body close to Gabriel’s because of his stubborn refusal to walk on the road like everybody else, the more particular the atmosphere of the aristocratic area became. It was a fluttering feeling, like the warmest light of sunshine in a cold December morning.

It resembled heavily of the sensation Gabriel gave you during your first month as roommates, right after he came home in the early morning from jogging and the sunrise glow danced on his face. He was ethereal and his purple eyes shone like amethysts. You tried very hard not to think about that, especially when you were around him, yet you didn’t know why.

* * *

Gabriel had spent the whole day following you around and let’s be honest, he was getting very irritated. Not at you, exactly, but very much at you if we are being petty. You had told him to leave the unnecessary clothing at the flat, and he should have listened, but he just didn’t feel like it at that moment. And then you had been right, the weather was miserable, and he had wasted the last six hours miracling his sweat away just to avoid admitting you were right since the beginning. So yeah, he was being petty.

He had started his day already in a bad mood, all because of that set of overalls you were wearing. Not due to the clothing, for he was kind of amused at your lack of hoodies, but because of all the skin that you were showing. Not at the skin either, but because it was marked. There were bruises and small cuts and scratches all over you; legs, arms, hands... you name it.

“It’s from work” you said, your fingers tracing your forearms and pointing at the purplish spots. They were ugly, and big, and Gabriel could see clearly how much you avoided putting pressure on them “. These are from carrying crates with all the flatware and everything. Heavy as mammoths. And you know by now I’m a shorty, so I get these ones” you showed him the inner part of your upper arms, where two symmetrical, brown bruises stood alone “from carrying the forged chairs fancy people like so much. The back rest is so tall I have to lift my arms very high, and I always get marks either here or on my shins.”

He had tried to keep the crowds away the whole day so no one would bump into you and worsen the hematomas, but you were a persistent little shit and pushed your way around instead of waiting for him to do it. As much as it exasperated him, it was an entertaining sight, all in all.

Someone would think the shadows and light breeze at the Soho had put him in a better humour, and that someone would be so terribly wrong it’d pain future generations. The weather was, indeed, better; however, the area looked familiar to him, yet he didn’t know the reason. The streets, perhaps? Maybe he had chatted some passer-by up before, during his day excursions to understand humanity? It could be, but the possibility of demons swaggering around and him being none-the-wiser was... that was out of the question. No demon would be stupid enough to just present themselves in front of an Archangel and expect nothing to happen. They were evil, not suicidal.

Then what-?

“Oh, dang! Look, G, what a place!” you beamed, rudely pulling Gabriel up from his thoughts. “This is old as heck. Hey, do you think they have theology books? Or religious art stuff? Maybe we can get one and go into a cathedral or a church and see the stained-glass windows! Figure out the martyrs, and why are they now saints. It’d be like catching Pokémon!”

You made a mad dash inside the shop, the only residue of your presence being the sweet, soft ding the doorbell made when the old, wooden gate opened and closed.

 _In the name of the Almighty, dealing with your enthusiasm was like herding cats_ , he grumbled to himself. He was about to follow inside, already rolling his eyes, when he stopped dead on his tracks.

There, right above his head, the pale golden sign that stated the business’ name reflected the sunlight timidly, like winking at him. Hell could have frozen at that very moment.

Gabriel squinted, gritting his teeth.

And he entered, stomping his feet rather heartily, into the bookshop.

The _A. Z. Fell & Co. Antiquarian and Unusual Books _sign kept shining pleasantly while the sun graced the streets at Soho for the rest of the afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how was it?
> 
> It's about time we introduce The Husbands, huh? Gabriel is going to be so pissed, I can see it already...
> 
> Is it going to be Crowley, or Aziraphale? Maybe both? What if it's someone else tho? Just imagine Shawdwell doing his shit or whatever in the bookshop and the feathery business guy that tried to destroy the world shows up like a regular neighbour on a stroll.
> 
> I want to thank you all again for the comments and the kudos, because they give me life! <3  
> If you want to see any kind of scenario in this fic, just let me know and I'm sure we can arrange something!


	4. Headless, Dumb Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel and a demon walk into a bar. There is an Archangel already there. The Archangel has a human too. Isn't that fucked up or what?  
> Oh. Well. It seems the Archangel is awfully stupid.  
> Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back. Sorry for the cliffhanger, guys!
> 
> I like this chapter-per-week thingy that's going on here. It's cool.
> 
> I hope you like it, and thanks to everyone that left kudos and comments, I appreciate them immensely <3

The bookshop stank of dust that refused to be cleaned and the palatable freshness that characterized a place where miracles were a recurrent thing. Talk about righteousness. Gabriel marched among the books like a soldier on a mission, shoulders squared, and chest puffed yet with a smile on his face. A smile that guaranteed a severe reprimand, but a smile nonetheless, let’s not get picky this soon.

He found you squatting near a pile of books so tall it even surpassed him in height, and as unstable as a politician’s argument against climate change. You were humming, fingers tracing the volumes’ spines, so old no title was written in there.

“I-” But you were already moving on to another pile, a contempt sigh on your lips a and light pat on his shoulder, zero fucks given about what he had to say to you. Gabriel blinked slowly and took a deep breath, calming down his urges to snatch you by the collar of your shirt and drag you out of the building. It’d be futile to talk to you when you were in this mood, too hyped to find some unread tomes to pay the minimal attention to him.

So it was better to just control the collateral damage. Gabriel twisted on his toes, scarf flapping with the motion, and started looking for Aziraphale. He went straight to the back of the shop, not bothering to make an excuse out loud to justify himself to the rest of the clientele, where some soft tune came from an old looking device Gabriel didn’t bother to analyse and followed the smell of melting wax. Aziraphale loved cinnamon-scented candles, it seemed.

There he was! The angel entertained himself reorganizing a shelf, it seemed, whistling softly along the music. He had those tiny and round spectacles perched on his nose, and a light smile graced his face. He seemed happy.

In the second a breath lasts, Gabriel saw red. Aziraphale was the reason he was trapped on Earth, and the one to blame for the Almostmageddon. Because of him, Heaven and Hell were still apart, still at war, and demons plagued the human world like flies around an infested piece of meat. Because of that disgusting excuse of an angel, sin still roamed the middle world and all and every soul was vulnerable to being tempted! How dared he be so comfortable when all around them was in danger-!

He lunged at Aziraphale, holding him down against the shelves with one big hand by the collarbone area and the other fisted tensely at his side. Aziraphale, who didn’t have no attacks scheduled against his persona this afternoon, screamed and gasped painfully when his head hit the wood. His blue eyes took a millisecond to focus on what was happening, and the moment he saw Gabriel’s murderous face he paled visibly.

“Gabriel-!”

“Hello, Aziraphale.”

Gabriel’s posture and demeanour was aggressive, that much Aziraphale had noticed. One had to be an absolute imbecile not to, however. But Aziraphale knew that, despite the Archangel’s attitude, he was still an angel in general, and the Archangel assigned by God to keep Peace and offer Help in the world in particular, and that was something worthy of attention, right? Gabriel couldn’t just act against those instincts of his. Not the way Michael, Uriel and Sandalphon had, he hoped, swallowing his fear shakenly.

“It’s quite delightful to see you- How-? You are here on Earth!” Aziraphale cleared his throat, hands raised in the air as to show he intended no harm to his superior. Gabriel didn’t move a muscle, but didn’t release him either, eyes furiously drilling into Aziraphale’s. “Didn’t- we did make an agreement. Upstairs. Erhm... About the -you are aware, I’m certain, right?-, the, uhh, end of the world and all that-”

“Yes” Gabriel sneered “. I’m not here for that.”

“Oh, good. Good!” Aziraphale huffed and puffed nervously, a bit more confidence showing in his voice. “Are you... here, down here, I mean... I wasn’t expecting you to show up here in the bookshop, you see.”

“I suppose not.” With one last push, Gabriel straightened up and let his no-longer subordinate some breathing area to do the same, which the blonde angel did gratefully, eyes casted downwards.

“A mission, I dare say?”

“Not for you.” Aziraphale flinched. “Your services, after that little stunt you decided to pull in Tadfield, will not be required for quite a long time.”

Aziraphale blinked at the harsh wording, licked his lips, and dared to look up, patting his coat straight. It was already in prime condition, but he needed to fumble with something. “Then, why?”

“Do you honestly believe you have the right to ask such a thing, Aziraphale?”

At that, Aziraphale’s brow twitched, lips pursing in a disagreeing scowl. “Humanity had to be protected. The war between Heaven and Hell was-”

“I know _that_.” Despite the venom in Gabriel’s voice, the bookshop owner didn’t feel threatened this time. There was something about him, he realised, something in Gabriel’s usually overconfident manners that wasn’t adding up to the manager attitude.

Gabriel stared right back at the angel’s blue eyes, but the shorter man didn’t recoil this time. No matter how apprehensive he was, Aziraphale was also analytic and resourceful -he did manage to last six millennia among humans, after all- and Gabriel didn’t like his gaze on him for one second.

The moment he saw Aziraphale’s eyes widen in recognition, he was back on him, chest to chest, and hissing. “Don’t you dare.”

“There is something human about you now!” And he was right, because Gabriel has never been as unholy and ill-tempered as he was being now. There was no trace of his eminent behaviour even though he still acted all high and mighty, and the sacred, blessed golden aura that always surrounded him- “Oh, dear God!” he cried in horror, gasping. “You have _fallen_!”

Gabriel blinked, his mouth curling up in a deep growl, and he addressed Aziraphale like the only thing he desired from life was to defenestrate him. “ _What?_ Agh, you stupid excuse of an angel, I have _not_ fallen! I’m an Archangel! In which kind of world me falling down would be- why are you crying?”

Aziraphale didn’t know. But, again, he kind of did.

Falling was a terrible thing. Angels precipitating, wings aflame, from the sky while suffocating in clouds of sulphur. No angel still in Heaven dared to forget how the day the Rebellious had been casted away, dropping on Earth like yowling comets, and then down, down... to end up in Hell. Aziraphale remembered the disfigured faces, the torn flesh, the burnt smell of feathers turning to ashes. The worst part were the halos dissipating away like flickering bulbs; it tore God’s presence from within the demons and many of them, desperate and empty from the abandonment, had chosen to drown themselves in the holy water pools that covered some desserts instead of facing eternity condemned to hollowness. An army of demons that feared not the withdrawal of the most sacred entity, the one that had given the universe a place in existence, the one that had created them all consciously and yet dared to part with it, uncaring of the consequences... That was what Heaven feared. What a terrible thing were demons.

To think that someone like Gabriel, who was known for his devotion and loyalty, was a risk of... It was better not to dwell on that.

“So, you are alright...” Aziraphale used the heel of his palm to wipe discretely away the tears in his eyes, and the Archangel pretended not to notice the leaking, clicking his tongue and looking away.

Gabriel cleared his throat and adjusted his scarf and coat. “I’m just here to check on you” he grumbled. Taking a deep breath and relishing in the distance his body had now stablished with the relieved angel in front of him, Gabriel went back to business. It was easier, and an everyday thing, too. “I am partaking in an undercover mission, mind you, and since we cohabitate the same city, the possibilities of me running into you or that damned demon, forgive the redundancy, you insist on keeping company with are notorious. This is a warning not to act out of character when the circumstances transpire, only _that_.”

Aziraphale nodded, playing with his fingers timidly. Big Boss Gabriel was familiar and not as intimidating as he wanted to be, even if no one dared to tell him that face to face. “Crowley wouldn’t just interfere with your mission” he excused, unable to stop himself.

Crowley wouldn’t just interfere with a Heavenly mission, on that much they could both agree.

Crowley would, positively, find the most annoying, ridiculous method to ruin it, however, and to do it with style and a ‘sparkle of originality, because those tight-assed, glorified-chickens upstairs wouldn’t recognize talent even if it bothered to smack them in the face with a pool table’.

* * *

“Did you know dear Billy-boy used to swing both ways?”

You snorted a laugh, looking up from were Orlando did his unnecessary drama speech in _As You Like._ Shakespeare had always felt like a pain in the ass to read with all his old-English and whatnot, and that had forced you to read it in your mother language instead of the original, but you had managed to dig up a copy of a modern adaptation of the play from under a couch and were thoroughly enjoying it.

“Don’t we all?” You received a grin and a cackle for your sass. Delightful.

At your side stood the weirdest guy you had seen in your whole life, and that’s saying something considering you lived with Gabriel and his eccentricities. He was unfairly handsome -like someone had done it on purpose-, with fiery hair and dressed like a K-Pop idol and a rock star had reproduced inside a wardrobe. He was also performing the most flirtatious _kabe-don_ ever, full on leaning against the shelf you were by like a striper on a mission. But, like, not within arms reach, which you were thankful for. He had done that consciously, it seemed -he had really long arms-, and you smiled at him. Brownie points for not being creepy. 

“Y’know, on a good afternoon, usually this place is filled with old, witty professors looking to pain the students with some antique text and fake it like a favour to their careers.” His accent was hard to follow, thick, probably Scottish, and you struggled a bit to understand him. But, again, he was a nice piece of eye-candy, quite charming too, and you had had a very good day, which made you willing to put some effort into the conversation.

“I take it on a bad afternoon the dust bunnies come out of their corners and try to eat the visitors?”

“Even worse” he looked around without shame, and then covered his mouth from the rest of clients, inclining in your direction, “the wannabe _hipsters_ appear. You should see them pretending to talk big game with the owner of this place, acting like they are capable of reading more complex stuff than the shampoo ingredients’ list on the back of the bottle.”

You laughed so hard you had to cover your mouth. “Oh, my God. Knock it off, you’re terrible.”

He was smirking widely, and you could see your face reflected on his sunglasses. He was very proud of himself. “It made me wonder, y’see, what an interesting foreigner like you could be looking for in here. Not a wannabe hipster, not an old professor. I’m helplessly curious by nature.”

“I bet that got you in some sticky situations.”

“In so many” he said with a lot of feeling, dramatically looking at the ceiling “now it’s even redundant.”

“Is there not a third option? How narrow minded.” This guy was fun. You liked him. And he was trying his hardest to pronounce more clearly, too, help you understand his words more easily. He was in your Nice People list now. Tough luck getting out, bitch.

“Hmm. Lemme tell you, you don’t seem the kind to be looking for a sugar daddy, but I could be wrong. Oh, please, say I’m wrong. I have a bet with the owner. He’s treating me to dinner if I win.”

He was _killing_ you. Bastard. “I do not!” you snickered, very temped to swat him in the arm. “How come someone like _you_ is here though?”

“What? Don’t I look enough like a bookworm that you have to shame me like this?” He scratched his chest, bringing your attention to his V-neck. You could see some chest hair in there, and very smooth skin, too. Tempting. You blinked. Motherfucker, sexy asshat, he knew his game. You forced you eyes up to his face, and he was smiling again, very much like a snake. He offered you his hand. “Crowley. Anthony J. Crowley.”

“J, huh?” you shook his hand and gave him your name. “What’s the J. for?”

He looked around again. “I actually told the owner in here that it was an embellishment.”

“It’s not?” Where was the joke. There had to be a joke in there, somewhere. You were already trying not to laugh.

He covered his mouth again. “ _It’s for Janthony._ ”

“You are the fucking worst!” You did swat him this time and he looked so proud of himself it was sickening. “Your name is _Anthony Janthony_?”

“Beautiful, huh? Total lady-killer. Please, contain yourself from fawning over me.”

“Easy up on me, Janthony. It seems to me you already have the hots for this so-called ‘owner’.” You saw his eyebrows rise from behind his sunglasses and he had the decency to blush. Ah, now he was flustered! Adorable, really. He fumbled with his jacket, then with his badly arranged tie, and tapped his feet.

“... I might or might not be dating him.”

“Oh, damn!” You clapped your hands, and he reddened even harder. “Good for you! He sounds very sweet.”

Suddenly, the soft-playing music that had been sounding through the store got drowned by voices. You recognized one of them as Gabriel’s and missed Crowley’s paling face. Steps echoed on the wall, dulled due to the coverage provided by hundreds of books.

They emerged from behind the shelves, one marching down like a general at war and the other strolling after him while keeping a security distance. You had to admit Gabriel’s coat looked good waving at his back, but your attention was on the chubby man with white hair. He looked like the physical embodiment of a marshmallow.

You elbowed Crowley’s side. “That your boo? He’s cute.”

Crowley spluttered. Both oncoming men twisted their heads at the sound. The blonde’s face lit up when looking at the dark scarecrow of a man at your side; Gabriel’s, not so much. He frowned instead, eyes drilling dead on the red head. 

Something was wrong and you noticed immediately.

You were used to Gabriel The Roomie, Gabriel With the Dad Voice, Businessman Gabriel and That Polite Bitch With The Precise Money Whenever, who was just an extension of That Fucking Rich Bitch I Swear To God. You didn’t know the guy that had just come out looking for you sporting a really cold stare and a Karen ‘Let Me Talk To Your Manager’ energy. It made you nervous, and you realised both the marshmallow man and Crowley had the same attitude as you.

“There you are. I assume you are done with this shop?”

You flinched. You didn’t mean to, but you couldn’t stop it. You saw Gabriel’s brows frown in confusion. “Yeah. Yes! I just- yeah.”

He eyed the book in your hands, “are you getting that?” He nodded to himself and attempted to get the Shakespeare’s composition from your hands “. This is a bookshop after all. Its purpose is to-”

“Yeah, no.” You shoved to book at Crowley and the guy held it to his chest warily. “I just- I’m not well, so I’ll just go home.”

Gabriel towered above all of you, looking at you the way he would do at a particularly difficult math problem. You had never found him intimidating until now, and the feeling left a nasty taste in your mouth. It felt awfully familiar and you wanted nothing to do with it. You avoided his eyes to the best of your ability, hands shoved tightly inside the pockets of your overalls.

“Well, I’m coming with.” He resolved, taking a step back from you.

You nodded absently, patting Crowley’s arm blindly and already on your way to exit the bookshop. “Fancy meeting you and nice boyfriend, very handsome. We gotta repeat some other time. Nice, uh, chat, yeah. Ah. Good day.”

In the morning, you had woken up early, packed snacks and walked your way to all the touristic emplacements in the centre of London alongside Gabriel. It had been a slow trip but presented a convenient chance to explore your neighbourhood and catch up. You had conversed he whole way.

The trip back was silent, and you hurried to catch the subway home. Gabriel asked no questions and just followed you around like a mute shadow, keeping his distance. You were grateful, but still unable to look at his face.

The very second you arrived home you ran to your room and locked yourself up.

* * *

To say Gabriel was frustrated was an understatement. He had paced the living room like a caged-up lion, rubbing his face, grumbling and thinking. Thinking all the fucking time. What had happened in the bookshop? You had been fine, blabbering about Shakespeare and those dumb colourful monsters from TV that a two-dimensional child captured with a ball. And then you weren’t fine at all, just... incredibly upset.

Gabriel, as most ethereal creatures, could sense the general feelings of living beings and places, and also when a particular strong feeling hit. That was a thing. Most days, what he could feel from you was tiredness, sometimes stress if you arrived straight from work. Those feelings were always dulled out the moment you entered the house. The change from negative vibes to happy contempt was so obvious Gabriel could feel the second your eyes landed on him without looking. He was fascinated by your reactions of his angelic presence.

It had been like that in the bookshop, at first. And then it wasn’t.

You had been so uneasy when facing him he had become nauseous and wanted to vomit. What had he _done_ _to-_? It wasn’t about the demon’s influence either, because the waves you had prior to him coming your way had been happy too.

A whole day, with its 24 hours, had passed, and he had only been able to catch a glimpse of you on your way to the bathroom. He had cooked dinner, breakfast and lunch again, and offered the food to you. You had declined politely, your voice small and cracked.

Gabriel was losing his fucking mind.

It was so painfully evident that you didn’t want him around he couldn’t stand it. The negativity in the air was choking him, both figuratively and literally. After the second night of not knowing of you, he had left the house. He had yelled, though, in the general direction of your room, that he was going for a run. And he had, for five full hours. When he had returned, you were still hiding from him.

Third day. Teatime o’clock. Your door cracked open.

You emerged, dressed quite properly but looking like a mess. A hoodie with the adequate size for someone like you and long trousers. You were pale, purple bags under your eyes, hair looking like a rattled nest and slouching. You were wearing the furry Grinch socks, however, and that kind of soothed Gabriel.

You looked at him in the eye for a second, cracked your fingers until the bones popped, and sighed. Gabriel was sitting at the table, his notebook open on a blank page but paying no attention to it. He had thought that analysing your behaviour would help, but he couldn’t find the right words, so he had been fumbling with the pen for the past three hours. He was a disaster too, dressed in sweats instead of his CEO persona’s clothing, and had forgotten to miracle his beard away, so his jaw was covered with the shadow of a stubble.

You approached and sat at the table too, and the Archangel noticed you were using the furniture to create a barrier between the two of you. He could sense a dull energy coming from you, not exactly upset, but very insecure and frustrated. Not a lick of happiness or contempt, however, and that meant he was walking on thin ice. It made him uncomfortable and added a heavy ball of insecurity in his stomach. He did not like that. He wasn’t supposed to feel like that.

“Are you well?” Gabriel tried to appear calm and collected and was glad you didn’t cower at his voice.

It took you a few seconds to gather your words, and when you spoke, they were wobbly and strained: “The man at the bookshop. The one that came out with you when... The one dressed in white.”

Gabriel nodded, willing to work with you. “The owner of the establishment.”

“He was terrified of you.” You blunted, popping your fingers again. “He was terrified of you and I don’t know why because I’ve never thought there was a reason to be terrified of you before-”

Gabriel took a deep breath. You were scared of him. No one was ever scared of him but now you were. The feeling was sharp, like someone digging their fingers in his side and in the spaces between his ribs. He played briefly with the cuffs of his sweater’s sleeves, shifting awkwardly. “I understand it can be-”

“I’ve been living with you for the past five months” you cut him, clenching your fingers anxiously, “and I’ve just realised I don’t know jack shit about you. That man, the shopkeeper, you knew him from before, didn’t you?”

Gabriel interlocked his fingers and faced his body to you, being careful not to get closer. You looked ready to bolt and run away. The spike of fear stayed levelled, not rising but not lowering either. He was getting frustrated too; you were questioning him. People didn’t question him. He didn’t have to answer to nobody but God and you were- “He used to, uhm, work for my company. He is now suspended, a necessary measure, I’m afraid, we had to implement. He decided to betray the politics the company had settled into following, and there had to be consequences for his actions.”

“He should be angry, then, or regretful. Or bitter, or something. Not scared. There are lotsa things not adding up here, Gabriel. I- You basically know everything about me and my routines now! I brought you here within hours of knowing you!” You rubbed your face, shoulders slumped, voice frantic. Anxiety started to emanate from you like a fountain. “I brought a fucking stranger into my home and you could be a psycho-killer freak for all I know. What the fuck was I thinking.”

“There are things I can’t tell you.” He cleared his throat, trying very hard not to sneer. He wasn’t succeeding, exactly. “Ask questions then, if you want to widen your horizons regarding the information related to me, and I’ll answer what I am able to; however, there are several topics that must remain confidential-”

“What is your relationship with the bookshop owner?”

“I was his superior.” Gabriel tried to sound easy-going, nice and approachable, but his tone was clipped, and the forced cheeriness was cringe worthy.

“Directly responsible for him?”

“To a degree.”

“He’s terrified of you” you repeated, your accent worming its way into your voice. You were sneering now, too, and the atmosphere in the room turned tense. “What did you _do_ -?”

“His actions were out of line, and his behaviour had to be corrected” Gabriel snapped, hissing. You did flinch this time but glared at him. The Archangel frowned, posture strained, and lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure.

“What did you do? What could anyone do to correct those out of line actions that could justify his reaction to you-”

“That is _confidential_.” He growled, standing up and firmly planting his hands on the table. “You have no right to question me or my decisions, so I strongly suggest you to, please, mind your own business.”

You stood up too, waves of anger infesting the room, but you were trembling. “I have all the rights cause we happen to be living together and _I don’t fucking know you._ ”

It stung.

Gabriel didn’t reply, eyes fixed on your figure and watched you exit the flat without bothering to put your shoes on. You slammed the door close.

Gabriel sighed a shaky breath, covering his face with his hands and slumping on the chair again. He was angry, that much he knew. That was an easy feeling to recognize. You were wrong. You were a stupid, irrelevant in the Big-Scheme-Of-Things-That-Ruled-Creation human. You weren’t worth a second look and had he not been forced on Earth, he was fucking positive he would have never noticed you.

He looked down and his hands were shacking. He pushed the sensation aside, clenching them in fists. His scowl deepened. There was something else nagging at him, and he couldn’t identify what it was.

Idiotic human.

You had feared him. He was an angel, and you had _feared_ him. That wasn’t- angels were not supposed to inspire that kind of feeling. He didn’t _want you to fear him._

And that was a problem on its own.

Angels weren’t to want. That wasn’t a thing they had to do. They had to serve a purpose, God’s will, and to follow. Gabriel hadn’t wanted a single thing in his existence. He had duties, he fulfilled them, and Heaven worked smoothly, and God’s Plans were executed precisely. Everything had its place. He knew his role in the universe.

He should not be wanting things.

That wasn’t his duty. He was an Archangel. He was-

He wanted you back. He wanted you in the house, over the couch, laughing your ass off at some stupid YouTube video. He wanted to go grocery shopping and had you snorting at his choices in gummy bears. He didn’t want you questioning him and being scared. He didn’t want you to hide your eyes at the sound of his voice. He didn’t want-

Gabriel wanted to stop wanting.

It was _wrong_.

You weren’t home.

_It was wrong._

He wasn’t human, and he did not intent to turn human. He didn’t want that. Because he was an Archangel. Archangels didn’t cause fear. He shouldn’t be causing you fear.

 _It was wrong._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it? 
> 
> Welcome to the Drama Zone. Here is where I start projecting my personal job BS. Please, feel free to add any kind of scenario or suggestions about what the Reader or Gabriel should do in this situation cause they are both messes. So fucking stupid I swear.
> 
> See you in the next update!


	5. Headless And Running Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are angry. He is angry. It's raining. Humans suck.
> 
> Gosh, just stop it already!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I'M BACK!
> 
> I'm aware this update is early, but I just couldn't wait to give you this chapter. So just tell me if you like it or something.
> 
> <3

The situation in the apartment was unsustainable.

You did have a full week for vacation, though. No matter how pissed at Gabriel’s ass you were, you still had no way to avoid being in the house for the next six days. Brilliant. Free time equals great time. You were ready to party. You were so fucking ready. You were-! You were so angry. So, so angry, so frustrated!

The six days you had you spent either holed up inside your room -for Gabriel had claimed the couch whenever the sun was up, the fucker, and the last thing you wanted was to see his ugly mug-, catching up with your friends from beyond the British frontiers or just outside and walking around. You had tried to return to the bookshop in order to obtain some insights about the huge whoop-ass problem between Crowley’s boyfriend and Gabriel, but it was always closed. No matter how much you looked around you couldn’t find the schedules for when it was open either, and you gave up on your fifth try.

Now, you had to stay home, and eat lunch and maintain yourself alive. You still had to cook the meals together, for he had already burned the stove and set two pans on fire and you didn’t dare leave him unsupervised since then, but still refused to talk to each other. It was now more out of pride than anything, sitting at the table, face to face, the whole house silent.

It wasn’t enough.

You had decided to sabotage each other, then, as to satisfy your needs to be shitty people no matter if the wronging could be solved with some civilised conversation or not. You were so over it. He would slam the door at Outrageously o’clock for his daily runs. You always happened to want to wash the dishes when he was showering. He reorganized your book collection by topics, labelling it with yellow post-its with rude names. You blasted the unholiest music the moment he sat his ass on the couch to read.

It wasn’t even a prank war, you two were just too stupid to talk things out.

“I thought he was the perfect roommate? I mean, we were getting jealous over here for half a year, and now you hate his guts?”

You sighed and rubbed your face. You were sitting on your bed, a bag of chips at your side and your computer in front of you. The screen was divided in two sections, one holding two people -Marc and Laura-, the other, a girl -Patricia. You’ve known them all since high school and would often Skype-call them to catch up, especially now that three of you were out of your country. Little Patricia had preferred to stay there and keep studying, getting herself some Master degree under her belt.

“I don’t _hate_ his guts” you replied, biting down harshly on a crispy chip. “It’ just- Like I was blind, y’know? Everything I could see was him being perfect and thoughtful and... No one is like that!”

“Maybe he’s a robot”, shrugged Patricia. Her clothes were thin and summery, and she had a fan on by her side, on a night table. You didn’t miss your home country’s weather for a second. If you wanted hot you just had to think of Crowley. Fuck the weather. “That’d be why things are confidential, as he said. He’d would be breaking protocols by telling you and he can’t, ‘cause he’s a robot, so it’s all a paradox. By telling you stuff he could tear apart the very fabric of our universe.”

“You’re a computer engineer and you’re saying now she lives with the real Terminator?” snorted Marc. He and Laura had decided to order in Chinese food and just the sight of them eating made your stomach grumble. “Or he could be a clone. An evil clone from an American chairman. He could be there in London searching for the real him to eliminate him and take over the company.”

“Feasible” approved Laura. “You said his company thingy seems like a huge deal for him.”

“That’s not the problem- he’s not a robot! He’s just fucking weird, but not a robot. Or a clone.” Your mood sank a little more. You were tired of fighting Gabriel. You had never been good at confrontation. It was exhausting, especially since you didn’t actually want to. Gabriel had been polite and respectful towards you since day one. Everything was good before you had panicked. Did you fuck up? What if Crowley’s boyfriend was an actual piece of shit and Gabriel was right all along and you had just ruined everything because you can’t do anything right- “It was all good before I lost my shit, ok?”

“The shopkeeper marshmallow man was scared of him, wasn’t he?” peaked Laura. “And you did try to contact him and his sketchy babe.”

“Yeah.”

“But you panicked for a reason. There must had been something that sounded the alarms because of the guy” protested Marc, level-headed as always. “You said it was his attitude, that he was suddenly another person and you didn’t recognize him at all.”

You looked at the side, to your book covered floor, then at the closed door. You could hear the TV on. Gabriel was- The _bitch_ was probably trying to cook something or keeping up with his push-up’s routine or... You scrunched your nose, forcing your thoughts away from your roommate. Housemate. He wasn’t even your mate, was he? You weren’t friends. He was the person that lived in the other room, that paid the other half of the expenses, the water, gas and electricity. Not a mate, not someone you knew or someone you liked. Just the guy you shared a kitchen with.

You sighed the sigh of the long-suffering, shoulders sinking, and closed your eyes. You wanted to go back in time so _bad,_ but you were so _angry_.

“He’s a big dude too, like, not a thin, breeze-could-tackle-him-down spaghetti-arms guy, and bringing a stranger inside the house... She is lucky he’s not a rapist or something worse.”

“Yeah, but that’s how actual house-sharing, room-renting works. You don’t know the people you’re gonna be living with ‘till the very same day you’re given the place. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes they’re douchebags. Alea jacta est. Move on, move out...”

“Knock on wood with this Gabo guy, really.”

“What was the thing that settled you off, anyway?” Patricia addressed you again, and you snapped out of whatever daze you were in, straightening your back. “Must have been a huge thing if it made you freak out that hard.”

“... Yeah.” You admitted. You cleared your throat uncomfortably and cracked your knuckles. All of your friends shared a look through their screens, knowing your tells. “It’s just- It was... Like, like when I was back at home, okay? The boyfriend was just behind him, all quiet and hiding and Gabriel seemed to have everything under... It was _bad_. The bookshop guy wasn’t happy at all and it just reminded me-”

“Of your mom.”

You looked at Marc, stretched your arms and nodded. “The boyfriend, he was the way I was when I was still there. With my family. He behaved the same way, looked at Gabriel the same way I used to do... Am I projecting or something? I just- I saw myself back there again, and Gabriel was being like my mom and I lost it. And now I can’t unsee it!”

“Projecting like that it’s- I mean-” Marc took a second to gather his thoughts. “Does he have those behaviours usually or...?”

“No? It was just then. He’s always a sweetheart here at home. But again, is he? I’m always working or out, I’ve barely had any actual time to spend with him. I know I don’t know him. I mean, I do _know_ some things about him, but they are kinda irrelevant? Really superfluous stuff.”

“But...?” insisted Laura, gesturing with her hands. Marc and Patricia kept silent, intently looking at you.

You rubbed your face and looked at the door again. The TV was still on and Gabriel was out there, and you had no fucking clue about how to feel regarding that. “I guess I’m just... I don’t want to be scared of him.”

“Are you?”

‘Yes’ was your first, visceral thought. But were you, again? What you were was a mess. Had it been just a panic attack and were you projecting for real? Gabriel had been nothing but helpful and kind. “No?”

“No? Why the question mark?” said Patricia.

“I’m not- I don’t know! There is nothing wrong with him, right? This is just me losing my mind. I just don’t want him to be like my mom.” You scratched your throat, looking at the door _again._ He was out there. What if it was you the one being a douchebag? You had lost your shit and now he thought he was living with a maniac. “I don’t want to be back to where I was with that kind of relationship. I got out of the country to avoid exactly that. And now I guess I’m scared of the situation. I’m not scared of him. I don’t want to fight him!”

“You are being stubborn, and I think you’re right when you say you don’t know him” reasoned Marc.

“He’s right. You gotta talk to him. You don’t know him, then get to know him.”

“Talk to him.”

You didn’t know shit. You weren’t sure about anything. It had taken you several years to make friends in high school. You changed countries just so you didn’t have to talk to people. You moved miles away from your problems and now you had a problem sitting on your couch. But what if you were right? Or not? Were you? Gabriel had never treated you poorly, and you had been in the wrong mind set for that kind of conversation. But what if you were just anticipating the same thing from before? You had defended your mother’s treatment towards you for years before facing the truth about your abusive relationship.

You changed the topic, redirecting it to Marc and Laura’s winter trip. They had been excited to go to Romania for months before you started with your roommate bullshit. An hour later you bid your goodbyes, promising some updates to your friends regarding the situation with Gabriel. You were sure they wouldn’t let you off the hook that easy.

Looking up and through the window, the sun was high and shining, but not mercilessly. It was a good day for a walk. You hadn’t been over at the Saint James’ since the day you met Gabriel. It would do you good to get out and get some fresh air.

You changed, throwing your poor excuse of a pyjamas somewhere in the room and getting some shorts and a shirt on. You grabbed your phone and wallet, trying to remember to grab your keys from the bowl at the entrance that Gabriel had bought because ‘organization is key, no, I’m not joking, no, that was _not_ a pun, stop laughing; if all those houses in the magazines and television have a key-bowl then so should we’.

Stupid Gabriel.

The moment you did open the door you realised the TV wasn’t on, just your roommate with his tablet and his notebook sitting at the couch. You had never liked the blasted couch with its ancient-looking fabric, but Gabriel looked right at home. The upholstery was of a clear, papyrus hue with some gold accents in threat. The colours were nice around him, like they belonged together. Nice artistic thinking, you. You shouldn’t be just there looking at him, though.

Get over it. He’s handsome, we know, we have known that for months now. He’s a stranger. He doesn’t talk to you. Get out of the house now, you’re still arguing with him, you don’t want to talk to him. He’s an idiot that won’t tell you shit, and you don’t know him. You don’t want to talk to _him_.

Ugh.

You did. You did want to talk to him. 

He raised his head and looked at you. He didn’t look very good expression wise, but the rest of him was as well put-together as always. He said nothing.

Well, it was _you_ the one rudely staring so... “I’m going out for a walk.” There. Conversation happened. You talked to him.

“Stay safe and enjoy you walk.” He answered back, returning to his device. His voice didn’t hold any of the emotion you had gotten from him for the last six months. It wasn’t cold, but it was uncaring.

You fucked up, uh? Really, really bad.

Good job, you. Fucking extraordinary.

“Yeah. See you later.”

You felt hollow, and the anger from before went away and left behind only loneliness.

You didn’t enjoy your walk either.

* * *

You went back to work again after your vacation week. Gabriel shouldn’t care. And he didn’t. He had his routine, his exercise and jogging -he could focus even more now that he was not occupied paying attention to your schedule- and his town exploring daily mission.

Now he could mind his own business and forget about you and your dramas.

He didn’t want anything to do with you-

You had yearned for him.

Gabriel had felt it.

He had spent all his conscious effort in getting some kind of positive emotion from you but that meant nothing. You had _yearned_ for him. He didn’t imagine it. The apartment was clogged with frustration and sadness, and anger... Those weren’t only coming from you. But Gabriel didn’t want to talk about that. He hadn’t imagined it. There had been something...

You were barely home. Always up early, always back very, very late in the night. A week passed, and every time he could catch a glance of you, you stank of stress, exhaustion and hollowness. He hadn’t got a sparkle of happiness from you in weeks. That wasn’t his doing, he was sure.

You slouched, pale, sweaty, everywhere you went. You dragged yourself to places, head hanging low, movements strained and heavy. He couldn’t remember the last time he was certain you had eaten enough or slept a decent number of hours. Some days you were only home for three or four hours, usually in the early morning, and instead of resting or sleeping you sat at the kitchen table -not that you had another, for there was not enough space in the apartment to update that plank-, arms hanging at your sides, and stared at the void until your phone alarm rang. Then you’d take a shower, change your uniform and leave again.

He was a creature of love, and he had taken for granted your favourable feelings for him. He had thought his influence as an angel would had been enough to grant him a trouble-free existence on Earth. It was like a steady rumble in the back of his mind, soothing, when you didn’t mean to dislike him. Now, the stability, the background safety that had made him always feel good, and comfortable and at ease was gone.

Gabriel felt very lonely. It was an unusual emotion, volatile, and it made the inside of his chest cold. He had blamed his stupid body nerves’ sensitivity the first week, associating it with an external sensation, but now he knew it was coming from him. His angelic matter didn’t lash out at him like this. It was foreign, and quite unwelcomed. Betrayed by his own body, ridiculous.

He wanted your sadness gone and wanted his sadness gone too. But he had no sadness. He was lonely, just that. It was simple. Loneliness didn’t have to be an emotion, actually. Which meant that he wasn’t wanting things _again_. He had read some internet articles, contrasted the information even. His research skills were impeccable. Anything he did was impeccable, really. Because _he_ was an Archangel and _Archangels didn’t want_.

And yet you were ruining him.

You were ruining both of you.

* * *

It was Friday. Again. You were sure your toenail was scraping against the inner part of your shoe, friction already responsible of taking apart the front part of your socks and obliterating the only barrier between your tired flesh and your work uniform. _Again._ How many socks had you destroyed this week? A pair for sure. At least two? Probably four, if we’re being honest. Your feet hurt like a bitch.

The sun wasn’t up yet, and neither was Gabriel. You had been avoiding him like the pest. Not on purpose, you just had work. Well, yeah, it was on purpose. Let’s stop thinking about him, alright? You had things to do. So many things. Extraordinary amounts of things to be done by you. Yes. Busy, busy, busy.

It was seven in the morning and you straitened up your work shirt, prime white, while waiting for the bus. You had to get to the pickup point by nine, and the public transport was a nightmare during summer. It seemed that was a thing shared by buses no matter the country. Heh. At least the regular bad stuff was still a constant.

Robbie and some other waiters were, pun not intended, already waiting at he pick up point. An hour later, at least fifteen of you had gathered there.

“That’s all today?” You asked.

A blonde guy, a bit older than you, answered you while climbing up into his car. His name was Chris and you had met him this last week. He seemed like the prototype of a cool kid. “There are some more coming from another agency. Today’s a big wedding for us. At least three hundred people.”

“Joy shines upon us.” You sighed, entering Robbie’s car.

“Do us a favour and speak like someone born this century, dago.” Screamed someone, laughing. You didn’t bother to look at the source.

“Knock it off, smartass. At least she’s being nice.” Snapped Robbie, threatening to get out of the vehicle.

You reorganized your uniform and bag again. You had been taking wedding-event jobs for the last week, and someone had started nicknaming you slurs since then. It was a guy, solely based on the tone, but you hadn’t identified the perpetrator yet. There were a lot of waiters hired by the company, and they all knew each other from other services. You were the new one, and while most kept it polite or ignored you, a bunch had opted for making your day insufferable. As if the wedding itself and its commensals weren’t bad enough.

Turns out you ended up being more than thirty waiters. The weather was hot, you were serving drinks and burning your hands with the fresh-from-the-oven dinner plates. The couple of the day was unbelievably rude, and so were their guests. You were assigned to the only two tables where the single bunch sat, all very drunk. They also found your accent incredibly funny and cheered whenever your pronunciation was a bit off.

You were very angry by the time it was time for the service to dine. You usually got to eat whatever the guests had forsaken as leftovers. Tonight’s guests, however, ate like it was their last day on Earth, and there was hardly any food left. First to arrive, first to serve, seemed to be the rule. Not that you knew, since someone with a higher rank told you to clean the tables and tidy up the linens; by the time you showed up in the kitchen, there was nothing to eat for you.

You were quite fed up by now, ironically. But it was _okay_. You were just going to fool your stomach with water and hope for a quick arrival at home. Ah, yeah, you had to stop at the pickup spot and then walk home because it was already one in the morning and no bus would be out by the time you arrived London. _But._ When you _got home._ You would be able to _eat something_. _And rest._

So.

It was.

 _Okay_.

You took off the mandatory bowtie and suspenders and went to look for Robbie. He would take you to the pickup point-

“I can’t” said Robbie, a big box in his hands. “Big boss told me I could make some more cash today if I stayed behind the counter and took care of those thirsty drinkers. They’ll want their booze tonight.”

Alright, Robbie was out. How were you going to get home? You were in the middle of the country, basically no civilisation around and-! Tight spot, alright, but you could get out. You always did. You were strong, resourceful, and fucking stubborn. You were also very tired. But strong! Come on! Do your thing!

You went to find some other waiter with a car available and the will to take you back to London.

“Sure thing.” God bless Chris. God fucking bless him, you could kiss him right now- “I gotta stop by another estate first tho, some friends are servicing there too and I gotta take them back to London.”

“If it’s going to be a problem, I wouldn’t want to-”

“Easy up, chick, there’s three of ‘em, then you, them me. Five spots in my car. No skin off my nose. ”

“Thank you so, so much.” What a good guy, that Chris.

If only you had known what you were getting yourself into...

Listen, fuck Chris. It’s been two hours. It’s three in the fucking morning. You were exhausted. Your feet hurt, your back hurt and so did your arms and hands and everywhere else as well. You head was pounding like a jackhammer. Your stomach was twisting onto itself. You were locked in the car, awful new-age music blasting through the speakers and you couldn’t reach anywhere to turn it off ‘cause you had decided to play the good Samaritan and sit in the back so the others could fit more comfortably. You were so fucking stupid! So, so stupid!

You could see Chris through the window. He was laughing his ass off, chatting with three waitresses and all of them sharing a joint like good siblings. It was the third one you had seen them smoke since you started paying attention. The nutcase was going to crash the fucking car, you were sure of it. Not like you cared. Not at this bloody point!

So, you were tired and pissed off and wanting to get home. Dying on the road was good enough. It’s wasn’t the time to get picky, was it?

* * *

Gabriel was sure you knew he still waited for you to arrive home after work every single day. You hadn’t mentioned it, of course, but he heard you scoff whenever his door clicked shut the moment the principal one opened. He had been in Heaven most of the time humanity plagued the Earth, but he was no airhead. Humans were nasty, and cruel, and free will was a tricky thing. God had almost wiped the surface off two or three times already. He was worried. You weren’t even in the state to defend yourself now, your body worn-out down by work and lack of sleep and inadequate nourishment.

So, he sat in his sparely decorated room, looking at the clock on the wall tic tack the time away. There was rumbling out of his window, and a slight humid scent; a summer storm. His mobile phone rested inside the tense grip of his fists, only half-released whenever he saw fit to comb his hair with his fingers. He did not want to acknowledge that as a nervous tick. Neither the finger-cracking that he had picked up from you. So, he didn’t.

Where were you?

He had a terrible feeling. He wasn’t used to those either. You were subjecting him to so many distasteful experiences, in the name of the Almighty... He didn’t need that knot in his stomach. He wasn’t even sure it hadn’t knotted itself up. Stomachs couldn’t do that, right? His organs were supposed to be under his unconscious command but...

His phone rang. It scared him so much he jumped off the bed, the device tumbling onto the floor. A familiar melody came from it. It was _The Hobbit’_ s OST. The screen flashed and the vibration carried the thin piece of tech across the ground, like a bunch of worms were dragging it.

Why were you calling him? You had been silent for two weeks now. You were calling him, and it was good, but he had a bad feeling, too. Was he supposed to get excited? Anxious? There was some kind of pressure inside him, but it was so foreign he couldn’t name it. He had watched a YouTube video about arguing between people. A very angry lady had said to ignore the calls from the person you were disagreeing with no matter what.

He still had that heaviness inside him, and it made him shaky and drenched him in cold sweat. The lady had said to not pick up. But it was four in the morning and you hadn’t called him for weeks. The phone kept singing.

Gabriel grabbed the phone and swept his thumb across the green button.

“ _...-listen, I’m just asking if you could, please, lower the volume..._ ”

You weren’t talking to him. Well, you were, he could hear your voice as if you had the phone right by your face, but you were addressing someone else. The background noise from wherever you were was incredibly loud. Gabriel frowned and called your name, trying to get your attention, but it seemed you couldn’t hear him.

“ _... no, I’m just saying!_ ” You were very distressed, and your voice had that distinctive edge that showed your accent and how close to losing you shit you were. “ _I just want to make a phone call. It’s raining cats and dogs out there and if you are not going to leave me at the pickup point I need-_ ”

Gabriel heard someone arguing with you. Their voice was rude. More voices joined in. They were quite disrespectful too. Your breath started to turn irregular, and you hissed through your teeth. Having it so close to his ear, the Archangel shivered. Uh. That was a new sensation. He hadn’t heard your voice so close and low before and-

The yelling picked up. They were mocking you. The music got only a little lower, and Gabriel could tell the voices apart from all the screaming and general noise. He tried calling your name again, clutching the phone in his hands.

“ _One second, Gabriel, I need to know where they are dropping me-”_

“ _Aww, that your boyfriend. He’s gon be picking you up? Nice done. He gon give your ass some dicking after too, I bet. That’s what you need after a workday like today. Hey, boyo!_ ”

“ _Gimme’ my phone back, you piece of-_ ” There was grunting, tapping, and the second voice, female, sounded louder. Everything else, too, including other three voices cheering, and he could hear you scoffing and protesting a bit further, enraged like a wild beast.

“ _Hey, bud. You her man? Ugh! Stay still, girly, I’m just talking to ‘im, I’m not gonna steal ‘im from you unless he wants to._ ”

“Please, be as kind as to return the device you are talking through to its owner, I have nothing to tell you.” Gabriel demanded, standing up from the bed and pacing around his room.

There was more yelling, and then you showed up again, panting and angrier. “ _Ok, can you come pick me up? I don’t know where I’m going to be dropped at yet, but the sky’s pouring down and I’m gonna need an umbrella if I intend to live for more than two minutes under this weather._ ”

More screaming. Gabriel frowned, already changing his clothes to something that would dry faster that his turtlenecks. If he was getting out and under that storm, no matter how many umbrellas he carried, he was going to get soaked one way or another. Better to prepare for the obvious. At least he could control that. “I’m on it.”

“ _Thanks. I’ll see you there._ ” You paused, grunted -he was pretty sure you were frowning very hard at the ongoing laughter, your accent being the target- and spoke again. “ _Or maybe I won’t. I’m pretty fucking sure this guy is gonna crash the car the moment I look away.”_

You hung up. You gave yourself a death sentence and you hung up. You were so infuriating, so maddening, so-! You were beyond belief! Gabriel roared his frustration, drilling holes in his phone with his eyes while he waited for the ‘ping’ that signalled a new message. He got it five minutes and twelve seconds later. It came with a map of sorts, a Google application, he remembered you saying.

**_The Midget:_ ** _C u there._

It was incredibly far, on the opposite of London. How was he going to get there before you arrived? You were going to get so sick, or mugged, or... What kind of people were driving you where? In what kind of mess where you in now? He grabbed the umbrellas, the keys from its bowl and looked at the map again. There was a small church close-by, he remembered walking in front of it during one of his morning runs. So now he had a point of reference...

He should _not_ be doing this.

With a snap of his fingers, Gabriel miracled himself there.

He ran immediately under the coverage of the big wooden, door, opening one of the umbrellas. Too late, however, since he was able to feel the water sliding down his back, under his sweater and also wetting his socks. Ugh, wet socks were the absolute worst. He ruffled his hair and wiped his face off water. He did that again. And again. Ok, so there was a lot of water going on everywhere. Let’s waste the time in something a bit more relevant.

Cussing to himself through gritted teeth he tried to miracle the water in his socks away. Useless too, uh? Ok, so no solutions were productive regarding the water. Great. It was just the best freaking scenario-!

Gabriel heard a steady yet loud rumble in the distance, beyond the curtain of rain. Voices, awfully out-of-beat music, laughter. In seconds, a car stopped by his side, soaking the little bit of him that was still dry with the huge puddle of rain that sat in front of the church. A door opened, the music and voices grew louder, and a cloud of cigar smoke came out. You tumbled after it, trying not to fall on the ground and cover yourself from the rain.

Gabriel instantly reached out and steadied you by the arm, dragging you out of the road.

“Nice guy you got there, chick!” Someone screamed. “Bet he’s thick af downstairs. If you can take a pounding from that, oh...!” The humans inside the vehicle whistled. You clutched Gabriel’s arm. The Archangel frowned heavily. “No need to make that face, my guy. We’re already leaving.”

A hand shot out to close the car again, but Gabriel held the door open. The metal cracked the way a secure car door shouldn’t. The laughter died a little in volume. “The bag.”

“Whatcha’ saying, man! Leave the door alone, you-”

“Her bag.” Gabriel repeated nicely. The door groaned a bit more. “Please, hand it over and then you will be able to return to your own business.”

“A’ight, a’ight. Here!” They threw it out, right at his face. Gabriel caught it impeccably and then slammed the door shut. The whole car wobbled, creaking. “Hey! Watch it, you-”

“I strongly recommend you leave now, you inconsequential bags of flesh. Before I change my mind, that is.” Gabriel was mostly nice, and that the general feeling he always intended to project externally. But angles had destroyed cities for less. They must had seen something in his eyes, for the tires whined and the vehicle and its occupants disappeared again in the wet atmosphere.

He remembered you were there too when you grabbed his other arm, the umbrella falling to the ground and let your head rest against his chest. He tensed. What a strange sensation, having you this near. He could close his arms and engulf you. You were _so small_ compared to him... And also trembling. Your fingers pierced his forearms, and your shoulders shook. A sharp intake of air and then Gabriel froze.

You were sobbing.

He tried to guide you under the church’s coverage, but your knees buckled. Not surprising, if he considered how much time you had gone without resting or eating... He dragged you there anyway, miracling one of the umbrellas away.

“Can we go home?” You begged. “ _Please_.”

“Yes.” Gabriel helped you put your bag-pack back on and then hauled you up bit your armpits. You curled your arms around his neck without hesitation, sighing and burring your face in there. Again, that foreign feeling. He pushed it aside and help up your legs around his torso. You were so _tiny._ How were you even alive? He miracled the umbrella in his hand and started walking back to the apartment. He took shortcut five minutes in, when you started shivering, and landed in front of the, forgive the redundancy, front door.

You stirred up with the clicking of the keys returning back to his home at the key-bowl by the entrance. Gabriel turned, leaving the umbrella resting there too. He took your bag away too, dropping it on the kitchen table. You grunted and nuzzled against him; your hands steady against his back. _You had to stop doing things._

He slumped on the couch, no doubt soaking it too. He didn’t have any damns to give by this point. You shivered and leaned up, dizzy. He observed you. You grunted.

“Help me out of this fucking shirt.”

“I’m certain I should not-”

“ _Gabriel._ ” You hissed.

His hands went for you then, quickly unbuttoning it. He had practice, with all the shirt he had on his own, and the offending garment was off and on the floor in seconds. He turned to look away. There was a protocol about this situation, he knew. He wasn’t supposed to look at you, he didn’t remember why or who had told him, or where had he read it, but he was not to- You went back to him, sighing and curling up. You were practically on his lap and had buried your ice-cold feet between the couch and his thigh. By the angels’ chorus, were you freezing.

You had taken his arm hostage between yours and he could feel the skin of your chest and stomach against him. You were so soft. Also, incredibly wet. What was putting him off, was, however, the strange waves coming from you. Immense relief, guilt, sadness, frustration. A bit of anger, too. So much exhaustion. He looked at you warily, almost not daring to, and definitely refusing to be the first one to speak. Your mood was a mystery and he didn’t want his head to be bitten off. He hadn’t tried that yet, but it sounded quite vicious and full of pain. Better to leave it for another day.

A few minutes passed, your body temperature levelled a tad, you weren’t crying or shivering, and Gabriel felt the weight of all his worry slowly disappear. He didn’t know where it went or why, but Lord was he glad. He was so tired of it. So, so done. You spoke up.

“I’m sorry.” It was low, a mumble against his biceps, and the Archangel tilted his head in your direction. “I’ve been-”

“We are good. You had reasons to distrust me.” He said to the air, refusing to look at you. He wasn’t going to apologize for following his mission through. He had considered all scenarios, and while the easy one would have been moving out, enchanting another foolish human and carrying on with his day... It would have left all the drama behind, all his problems, the sadness, the loneliness. And you too. He wasn’t going to apologize, but he wasn’t leaving either. “I hope you don’t have them anymore.”

You kept silent. Gabriel breathed out and looked at you, calling your name tiredly. “...I still don’t know you, G.”

Emotions were weird, and Gabriel didn’t usually cry. The last time had been when Mary’s son was on the cross, and it had been _so long._ Yet, hearing you destroy his name again brought him so much relief he could have wept. He did laugh, a small cackle, and closed his eyes.

“We ought to fix that, then.”

“Yes, please.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehhhhhh
> 
> Did you like it? Did you? 
> 
> :)
> 
> Now we need the fluff to make its way into this mess 'cause we've had enough


	6. About Food And Other Types of Grain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's get a bit closer and talk our shit out, aight? It's 'bout time, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So , you guys get two chapters in less than a week!
> 
> I think I'll be able to write a bit more this week since I don't have to work 'till September raises its ugly head so yay. However, I'm off to vacation the hell out of my country during the last two weeks of August, so we'll see how the updating process go. 
> 
> Perhaps I won't be able to post at all.

The seatbelt oppressed your chest no matter how hard you tugged on it. At your left, Gina and Annie, phones’ pinging wildly and the light of their screens casting weird shadows on their faces. They laughed in high pitches, gesturing with their hands in the air and waving their cigarettes around. The cancer sticks’ trail of smoke got lost in the already congested vehicle and made your eyes itch and cry. The engine from Chris’ car roared under you, an uncontrolled beast; you were holding onto the handlebar above the window for dear life, body swaging in the seat to this an that side at the abrupt turns the driver took. You had hit your head against the window three times now.

The roads were empty. You had the wedding in a lost state in the middle of nowhere. Not even cows to look at, and a pitiful, flickering light in the highroad every hundred meters or so to signal the way. However, at the speed you were being driven, they seemed like busy lightning bugs dancing a sound speed conga. You had never had a problem with cars until now. Never gotten sick and dizzy, never had the metaphorical pressure of a hand with a death grip on your throat and, thankfully, never had been drenched in work and cold sweat at the same time before. What a nice experience to avoid.

You coughed harshly, and it was drowned by the loud voices in the car. You all smelt terrible, and you could feel very clearly the dirt in your clothes, the wet splotches of salsa and red wine, now dried, clinging and sticky against your flesh. The car jumped over another imperfection on the road and you hit your head with the window’s glass yet again. Gina laughed at you, but you couldn’t hear her words. Chris joined in, then Annie, then the girl sitting in front of you, whose face was blurry as she turned her head to look at you from her seat.

It wasn’t good. Another bump in the road; you groaned harder, seeing black for a second. Getting inside this car was the worst fucking decision you had ever made, screw welcoming a stranger in your apartment. Gabriel gave you pancakes. Chris was going to freaking kill you. The music the speakers blared made your heart pound, and you could feel the vibrations inside your chest, loud through the bag pack you were pressed against to try and cushion some of the hellish noise. The volume was so, so loud you wanted to scream.

They were talking. You didn’t have the answer as to how, but they were having a screamed conversation. Ah, about the joints they had smoked right before they hit the road. Amazing. You tried our best not to think about it, clenching your jaw and pulling again the seatbelt. Laughter, yelling. You drew your eyes from the view through the window to see what the stars was going on- No. Oh, shit. No.

Chris had only one hand on the wheel, which was, technically fine. His whole torso, however, was turned in the opposite direction where it should point, and he was gesturing vividly at some argument Gina had made. He looked really into the conversation.

“Please, watch the road!” you begged. “Chris, turn around!”

He paid you no mind, readjusting his own belt to be able to turn further. You could see two hands and a phone recording the whole endeavour through the gap between the seats. You had faith in no otherworldly authority, but at this very moment you wanted to pray for someone to just get you out of there. They kept screaming.

“Chris! For fuck’s sake!” You tugged again, thrown flushed against the side of the car when he took a nasty curve and was forced to look to the road again. “Slow down, you’re going to get us killed!”

There, right when the car flew over another broken split in the concrete, you saw the lights of the city. You just had to cross the M25, with all its’ fuckery no matter the hour, and you would be, somehow, home. If only it wasn’t raining. An easy detail to miss, when the thunder got covered by some ’80 punks’ yelling. The rain was a bit more obvious, crunching against the car’s bodywork so hard it seemed the wheels were crushing gravel instead.

You had to do something.

You couldn’t just stay there, trapped in that poorly executed joke of a rocket, with a madman at the wheel and his three cronies in ponytails. Where the fuck was your phone. _Where the fuck-_ You had to call someone. You tugged harder, releasing the hand that gripped the handlebar to search inside your bag. Gabriel. Gabriel would do. Blasted night! You couldn’t see a thing! _You had to call Gabriel_. The guy always knew what to do. He was a Karen; he always had all the answers. Your damn phone. Where had it _gone._

Screams again, but totally different from what you had heard until now. There was a pair of lights coming at the car. Beeping. Yelling. Gina swatted at you, flailing like crazy. She was crying, you could hear it. Before your mind could register it, your body was flying, your ribcage snapping with the force of the impact. You couldn’t breathe.

It hurts-

You woke up violently, a choked scream in your throat. Someone yelped at your side, and you looked at Gabriel. His eyes were wide as saucers, and he was holding his chest. You had one leg across his lap, and your heel was dangerously close to his crotch. You hoped you hadn’t hit him there too.

You half coughed, trying to catch some breath and clear your throat. “Did I just kick you in the chest?”

“Between that and the scare, I’d say you’re succeeding extraordinarily at murder. My compliments.” He confirmed, patting himself. No major damage to his persona, luckily. Gabriel brushed his hair with his fingers and rubbed his face. He frowned then, looking around and discovering where you two were. The living room? What...? What time was it, that the sun was shining this hard in the morning? It was a greyish light, and it hurt his eyes. Screw clarity, a foggy day was better than this half-assed attempt at summer.

You put your leg back to yourself, breathing in with intent and blinking the sleep away. It was kind of chilly, probably because of the leftover humidity from the storm. Your flat wasn’t the best place to be during winter. You rubbed your arms, forcing the goosebumps to stand down. What a strange night. All that, from your nightmare, had happened, right? Not the last bit, fortunately... But the screams, the mockery, the fear... You could remember that quite sharply. The struggle, the helplessness. You had felt so small, the control taken away from you; you had been at that arsehole’s mercy, and he had drove in the rain, inside a pitch-black storm, so fast-

“I take it was a very bad dream?” Gabriel’s low voice dragged you out of your mind, and you tried to look at him while pretending your eyes weren’t that red and swollen. You noticed his hand hovering close to you, and he was looking mindfully at your face.

“Sorry I woke you up.” You tucked your legs under your body and looked at his hand. He was getting closer, and you know what? You were tired of fighting. The man had crossed all London just to pick you up at three in the morning in the middle of a hellish summer storm, so you were willing to cut him some slack. You were also curious as to how far he would go, let’s admit that. Gabriel wasn’t a guy known for his fondness at physical contact, and this time he was the one reaching out to you.

“I don’t need that much sleep.” It wasn’t an accusation, or an apology, or an acknowledgement to anything. A statement made while not paying attention, you’d say, with how much he was looking at you. His thump brushed your cheek, big, warm and so very soft. How could it not be the touch of a cloud, if the guy had never worked a hard day in his life. He followed the trail left by your tears, and you felt his fingers and his palm’s heat at your jaw. His hand was so big he could grab your neck too if he just tried a little.

A very intimate move, you thought, staring right back at him. Your chest heaved and you _knew_ it had to be from the nightmare. You took his appearance in, from his turtleneck to his now wrinkled pants. It was the first time you had seen him in such a poor attire. He had very beautiful eyes. You lifted your own hand, slowly, and placed it on top of his. He hesitated for a second, out of whatever daze he was lost in before. “Sorry I made you go to pick me up at that kind of hour.”

He blinked and took his hand away. You forced yourself to not follow it. Goodbye, warm hand, and hello to you, cold British morning. “I’m glad you called. Humans are such terrible creatures. So much potential, and how pitiful are the techniques they use to waste it.”

“Yeah, people suck.” You dropped your head back, and, oh, surprise, there was his arm, stretched as long as it was on the couch’s backrest. You two keep quiet for a few minutes, basking in the silence and the eerie light. It was good, and you let your eyelids rest, at ease for the first time in weeks. No tension, no nightmares, no arguing.

An incredibly superficial touch against your arm woke you up again. Gabriel’s knuckles grazed one of the bruises left by your journey on the lunatic’s car. It had erupted in an angry shade of purple, surrounded by brown and yellow and some blue splotches. It was a happy bruise too, for it wasn’t lonely: at least half a dozen of different tints accompanied it on just that one arm. His face was serious and analytic, and you broke, unapologetically, the solemn atmosphere with your giggles when his fingers descended to your side. He was concerned, following and tracing all the marks, but, hey, you were ticklish.

“I have never seen anyone obtain so many wounds when they work.” He muttered, keeping now his hands to himself. How many happy sounds you made, Gabriel thought, despite all the beating that covered the expanse of your skin.

“Nobody works like I do.” You closed your eyes and let your head fall back, towards the warmness of his arm, and wished he would tickle you again. His hand were soft, and it had felt nice. Maybe you could convince him to try again. “I’m also hella clumsy, as you know. If something drops, it’ll probably be on my toes. I collect concussions as a hobby.” 

“Not a very healthy entertainment, based of what I have been able to witness.”

“It’s not meant to last very long.” You shrugged.

“No, if you keep that rhythm up it won’t.” Gabriel grunted and sank in the couch further, making himself at home, and you cheered to yourself. Lazy day it was, yay. Those were few and far in between, and you were ready to enjoy this one to its full extent. “...Are you going to do another wedding week?”

He had to be worried, you mused, with the state your body was in. How could you blame him? He was mother goose and you looked like you had spat in the eye of a mafia chief and got the payback increased tenfold. Any bloody person with some functioning common sense would advise you against your job. And you had to give it to him, Gabriel did use his common sense, even if it happened once in a blue moon. You raised your legs and placed them on his lap. He posed his hand on top of your calf, surrendering his thigh to your comfort. Another outstanding victory for your team. You snuggled deeper within the cushions, fetching the two blankets Gabriel’s middle-aged suburban mom impulse had forced him to buy and throwing them on top of your tired bodies. “Honestly? Chances say no and I agree with them. I could go for a week or two with only weird schedules, no torture sprinkled in.”

His hand grew a bit warmer on your leg and he hummed, voice low. “Good.”

* * *

“This is not how you prepare pancakes.”

“But this _is_ how _I_ prepare pancakes.” You ducked under Gabriel’s arms, avoiding his grasp however you could in the little kitchen of your shared apartment. He had insisted on cooking, but you knew better. No more burnt smells and greyish concoctions with sequins as long as you two could still share a civilized conversation. For your stomach’s sake.

“Well, it’s not the right way to do it! Come back here with the batter, you gremlin.” You jumped over the couch, balancing the bowl with the half-mixed batter in your hands while trying to avoid getting everything covered in butter. “I swear in the name of the Almighty, if you get anything dirty, you’re going to lick it clean with your tongue. I refuse to walk on a sticky floor yet again.”

“Which part could I use to lick anything but my tongue, Mister Turtle? Think about it and if you give me an acceptable answer, I’ll return this stuff. Get creative.” He reached for you again, and you fake tripped. He gasped, outraged. You laughed, keeping the sofa as a barricade. You’d have a more restricted manoeuvre area if he cornered you in the book niche, but right now Gabriel seemed so affronted you doubted he’d think of strategies to render your mockery useless.

“We are never going to have dinner at this point!” Unexpectedly, he picked a cushion and launched it at your face. You shrieked, blocking it with your back as not to endanger the mixture, and Gabriel took advantage of the open window in our defences, getting by your side in two strides of his long legs and gaining the bowl back.

He had discovered that very afternoon you were ticklish on your sides and maximized his effort by pinching you around your ribs until you fell back on the couch, crying in forced laughter. Victorious, he retreated, holding the batter bowl under his arm like a hard-won trophy.

You gasped, belly up like a defeated tortoise, and fought the last rattles of tickles. “It’s breakfast dinner anyway, how much we take to cook it doesn’t matter anymore. Time is a mockery.”

“And reality is just the scenario for the biggest play ever written in creation. Yet I find myself with an appetite right now.” The rhythmic sound of batter being mixed, whisk hitting and scrapping with surgical precision inside the bowl reigned in the kitchen for a few seconds. “Get up and fetch the blueberries, you’ll find them in the fridge.”

You gave you best interpretation of a suffering soul to the date, getting up from the couch, dragging your feet, and did as you were told. “It’s almost empty in there, we have to get groceries one of these days.”

“Not tomorrow, it’s Sunday.” The mixture sizzled in the pan and your mouth watered, passing Gabriel a spatula without prompting. Synchrony, you believed it was called; quite irritating for external onlookers but oh so convenient. “And you said we had to go to the zoo. I have never been in one.”

You snapped your eyes away from the nearly done pancake , redirecting him to Gabriel’s face. He could feel you already vibrating in your spot, a huge smile aimed at him like a weapon. “We are going to the zoo tomorrow?”

“I believe we were going to visit the place three weeks ago, but got...” He hummed, frowning for a second and grabbing a plate from that too high shelf where he had put them in just to spite you months ago. “... carried away.”

You hummed back, eyes diverting to the fucking shelf with hate burning in your pupils. Not even with a stool you could reach up there and the fucker knew. He was so bloody tall. “I can’t believe you have a money tree inside your wardrobe, yet you have never gone to a zoo.”

“A money tree is a convenient thing to have inside one’s wardrobe.” You relaxed a little at his obviously relieved voice. What a nice save you had done for him fuck up, huh? You were still planning to go to Crowley’s boyfriend’s bookshop, but your roommate didn’t have to know. “It’s not like the abomination you hide in yours.”

“What do you think I have in my closet, Gabe?”

“I believe the proper terminology for this situation would be ‘crime against fashion’. I also believe you call it ‘hoodies’?” He sassed you, hitting your knuckles with the rubber spatula the moment he caught you dipping your fingers in the batter mix. Foolish man, you had already tasted it trice! “Hands where I can see them or you’re eating those books of yours tonight instead of the dinner pancakes.”

“Dancakes?”

“Go to your room, and I’m forbidding language in this house for a week.”

* * *

After a long night of sleep in your own room, you were ready to roam the zoo. Shower, clothing, and purposely forgetting to make your bed. Gosh, your room looked like a tornado had trashed it. Good. You now lived on your own and your private space could look however the hell you felt like that day. Screw you, mother.

You went to the living room then, pulling back the curtains and letting some sun in the apartment. Then, the kitchen: bags, cutlery, water bottles... You raided the snack drawer mercilessly. Now, the only thing missing was the actual food. You could make something to save some time. Where was Gabriel, anyway?

You jumped over the couch, something that always made him crazy, and knocked on his door. It was as plain as your landlady had given it to you, in strong contraposition to your own door. You had covered it in stickers and funny newspaper headlines; since you kept it closed most of the time, you were able to enjoy the artistic collage from the living room. You hadn’t got any new stickers recently, now that the central space was covered by a huge post-its composition warning your roommate to keep out or at least knock on the wood first. You snickered. It had taken Gabriel three months to remember he couldn’t just barge in your room, and you had bought a super-soaker a week in to remind him. He had just the bad habit of not being aware he was no king -he never seemed like a creep to you, at least- and you were positive he didn’t intrude in your space to be rude or nasty, but because he was oblivious as fuck. It was incredibly funny to aim it at his mouth when he barged in.

No answer, huh? You checked the time in your phone. Eight in the morning, so early, ugh! What were you doing awake, already showered and all prepared at such an hour. You could be sleeping! He was probably out, jogging. You didn’t know where Gabriel got his energy from and, honestly, it was a secret he could keep to himself.

Quiet hour until he got back, then. You went to search your personal library, that is, the huge amount of piled up books right in front of the huge living room window and looked for something appropriate for the day. Something akin to a light read, that wouldn’t get you too engrossed or distracted, a topic you wouldn’t mind dropping in the middle of a conversation... There! A zoology encyclopaedia, resting under the pot of your giant plant like someone had put it there on purpose. It was thick and heavy, one of your biggest acquisitions, and you snuggled in the couch under its weight happily.

By the time the front door unlocked, and Gabriel came in, panting, you had made a nice dent in your book and now were rediscovering the wonders that the reptile world hid.

“Hey, Gaby, good morn-”

Suddenly, you fell to Gabriel’s side of the couch with a yelp, clutching the book to your chest. The left side of the furniture was rising and what the-? Gabriel dragged everything, including yourself, back to were the room fused with the kitchen, nor grunting neither looking like it supposed him any substantial effort. You sat there, dishevelled, and watched him follow his push up routine for a solid fifteen minutes break in the new space he had made for himself.

When he was done, he moved the couch back to were it belonged. Your thick as hell book and you were still on it. “What in the actual fuck, G.”

“Good morning to you, too.” He stretched, already heading to his room to fetch his outfit for the day to change after the shower. “Is everything prepared for the day trip?”

“We’re just missing breakfast and lunch.” You dutifully informed, recuperating your position on the couch but returning the book to the pile. “It’s nine already, tho, and according to that the zoo opens at ten.”

He left the door cracked open as to kept talking to you, and you respectfully maintained your eyes entertained with a dumb, random game in your phone. You had already gotten an eyeful of the man working out, his body nicely squeezed in the tight jogging pants. No mortal should have an ass like that and now you were cursed forever. You had just bought all the tickets for some hellish vacation during eternity and you now what, you did not regret it. Perhaps you had to rise early every day from now on...“We still have a full hour.”

“Taking the subway is also a possibility.”

“Why do you want to be there so early? Is the place that big that we need the complete day to visit it entirely?” The sound of a body hitting the falling water, his voice getting drowned by it. Stop thinking about his ass.

“Well, yeah-” You cleared your throat, focusing harder on your game. “I actually haven’t been there yet, but it’s Sunday and that means every child in London is going to be there, queueing to see the sea lions or whatever. And their families. And people on dates. It’s going to get so crowded a wasp nest might seem like a ghost city in comparison.”

A regular off-white, button-up shirt and long pants were his choice for the day. It was better than the trench coat and the satin scarf, praise the Lord, but still such a hot outfit for the weather. No matter how much you warned him about the dust that’d probably ruin his clothes, Gabriel stood his ground. Let him suffer then, you thought, shrugging.

Some sandwiches for breakfast while you cooked a bit more elaborated lunch and tupperwared it, and you were ready to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was that fluff? Do you call that fluff? 
> 
> Reader is a bit skittish still, and Gabriel doesn't know shit about anything. Yet, comfort is comfort *shrugs*


	7. A Day Out Of The Pen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wanted to go to the zoo? You are going to go to the zoo.
> 
> Well, would you look at that? That hair, those shades... Isn't he familiar?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, this is Kuvvy and I'm back with chapter seven! 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy it.
> 
> Also, yes, I've noticed the nice welcome you guys had given to Gabriel's ass. Bless you all cause we're going to hell just for thinking about it 
> 
> ;)
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

You were waiting in line, surrounded by the excited clamour of children voices. It was barely eleven, and the sun was somehow weak so close to midday, alleviated thanks to an occasional light breeze. You had grabbed a jumper just in case, no matter how much you had mocked Gabriel for his long-sleeved choice in clothing, because the last thing you wanted was to catch a summer cold on zoo day. You were also wearing a cap and relished in the confused double take Gabriel was giving you every time he forgot your outfit damaged his pernickety eyes. Give or take, every five to ten minutes, you had calculated. His face was priceless, like he couldn’t decide between revulsion and astonished wonder.

“For every frown you give me because of my clothes in the next hour I’m implementing the ‘no taste’ tax” you grinned, flicking the cap’s peak up to wink at him, “and you’ll have to buy me as many ice-creams as I want.”

“What is the point of counting my frowns if the number of ice-creams doesn’t depend on them.” He mussed, eyeing the families with their children and the mushy couples a few feet away with notorious disinterest. His glaze returned to you, glowing purple in the sunlight. If you squinted, you could see the hard lines in his gesture softening, and you grinned cheekily at him. So much for keeping up the bastard, cold-hearted manager attitude, you thought teasingly.

“I get to laugh at you.”

The queueing was a terrific experience, really. You loved wasting your calves standing still for hours. The lines advanced a few steps, like a stop-motion pilgrimage, and you re-tied the jumper around your hips for the third time, feeling the edge brush against the back of your knees. Damn, you just loved having big clothes, even for summer. Fuck fashion, comfortableness was a priority in your world. You watched Gabriel take some steps too by the corner of your eye. No matter for how long you had met him, his size was always a surprise for you. How could anyone be so big?

“Delightful-” You felt a tug at your jumper and turned around to see Gabriel inspecting the fabric. He eyed you, mocking expression and eyebrows raised in fake incredulity. “And since when do you steal my workout attire?”

You blushed, frowning in confusion and checking the offending item that you had snatched as an afterthought right when you were closing the apartment’s door. The texture was soft as a cloud, and, investigating a bit more, you found an engraved pair of wings in silky white threat in the chest area, right by where your butt was. “I do not-!”

“No, it’s quite alright.” Gabriel interrupted you. He had a shit-eating smirk plastered on and you twisted the sleeve of his sweater, reddening. You weren’t going to give it back until you arrived back home, because of the cold threat, so he would have to suck it up- His chin was up, his hands placidly interlocked in front of him, like a cat that had just dropped a glass despite the owner’s warnings. Were you the owner, or the glass? You face felt hot. “I am gracious enough to cede it to you for the day. Next time, you only need to ask, however, and I’ll surrender the clothing myself. No requirement to steal it whatsoever.” 

“You’re an ass. I’ll steal as much as I felt like it.” Your defence was weak and mumbled, worsened by the fact that any astronaut that happened to be looking down to Earth would be able to pinpoint you just by following the red, glowing spot on the surface.

Gabriel was in an extraordinarily good mood. For two days now, since you had the nightmare, the only waves of feelings he had gotten from you were happy. Not even tainted by stress. Just pure, unadulterated joy. He was absolutely certain what he was feelings was what the people in the videos described as high.

“Feel free to.” He conceded smoothly.

He had given up on his angelic influences. They hadn’t even bothered to cover the bad sensations coming from you during your arguing period, and Lord was he glad they hadn’t. The feelings he was getting from you now! He had spent since he had woken up on that couch, a shirtless and foul-smelling you at his side, fighting back a smile. It was good, relaxed. His chest felt light. What a strange sensation, but oh, so welcomed. He had discovered your joy spiked every time he tickled you, too. Or when he smiled at you. He got the waves loud and clear, unfiltered. It was warm. Was that the first thing that he genuinely enjoyed since he landed on Earth? Very, very probable.

He glanced down at you, taking your picture in now that you were busy fiddling with your fingers and very pointedly not looking at him. Ugly, rattled cap, a shirt with a dumb message and his sweater around your hips. Your fashion sense was a direct offense to humanity itself. Gabriel wondered why he bothered to stay with someone like you when he had such a remarkable style. Was he too nice? Perhaps he hoped some of his good habits would rub off on you. So far, he had been resoundingly unsuccessful, yet he discovered it didn’t bother him at all.

You barely reached his shoulder. So tiny. He was aware that humans’ body size increased through the centuries; people were shorter a thousand years ago, and now they were taller to fit their environment, somehow? He was still researching that. The point is you were small, and he found it endearing. Not even the shortest angel he had ever seen was your size. So amusing.

You felt his eyes on you again and stuck your tongue at him, oblivious to him inspecting your still healing bruises. He pinched your nose.

Gabriel had stopped your trip just right by the zoo entrance that morning, where a convenience store was located, to buy some bandaids to cover up all the scratches you had everywhere, and now every inch of skin you were showing had big, puffy, colourful patches with silly doodles on them. You had placed one too on your cap’s peak at the time, ‘since you were already at it’. The Archangel rolled his eyes but let you be. As long as you didn’t enter a place filled with dirty animals and dust with uncovered wounds, Gabriel was fine with it. He had found you sleeping on the floor once because you wanted to try how a pan worked as a pillow. A bandaid on a cap wasn’t going to be a reason for concern at this point.

When you finally entered the zoo, you were ecstatic, jumping around like someone had attached springs to the sole of your trainers. He accompanied you in silence, somehow always finding the best spot around the pen where the animal you wanted to see was.

On the other hand, you were quite entertained. Did you come to the zoo to see the animals or did you want a show? You didn’t have to go that far to get the second option, you thought to yourself. Gabriel was smitten, looking at every creature with huge eyes; just because he was keeping his calm and usual demeanour didn’t mean you couldn’t see the signals. If an enclosure with a new animal appeared on sigh by the time you were done bouncing from side to side, his eyes snapped on that direction and he corrected your path with a gentle but insistent brush to your elbow in order to go there. It was nice that he felt more comfortable touching you. He also knew the original name of every animal, don’t ask how or why, and would give you snippets of curious facts about them whenever you would stop and awe at the creatures.

He was also the show, and not only for you. You giggled every time a kid tripped because they got too distracted looking at him, specially because he seemed absolutely unaware of it, too busy absorbing all the data the information planks offered. The cuffs of his dark pants were already looking like a snowfield and when you pointed it, and instead of getting bitchy, he just grabbed your whole face and turned you to look at the giraffes, sighing like a tired manager. You felt very tempted to recline backwards and fall against him, but ultimately stopped yourself. There was no need to push him for contact when he was having such a good time.

Unknown to you, Gabriel had already seen those animals, but only while they had been created, and for a few minutes. He was the one assigned to keep track of them and get the assets counted after all, back in the Garden of Eden. More than six thousand years had passed since he was able to see them all together in one place once again. Was he surprised? Humanity had achieved that. As far as Gabriel knew, not even angels had tried to fetch the creatures after Noah released them back on dry land. Why would they...?

He had his answer now. It was meaningless for celestial beings, but just looking around he could feel all the cheerful waves coming from the people, particularly from children, and the bright aura emanating from the ground beneath his feet. What a self-imposed task, he thought at first, and then he saw you peacefully following him around, smile as wide as the sky. He had to be impressed, humans finding pleasure in something as trivial as watching animals... He didn’t understand why it brought them that kind of feeling, for they had domesticated cattle for thousands of years now. No matter how, it seemed to do the trick, and he had forcefully learnt in the few months he had stayed in the middle realm not to question those simple facts.

He had intended to use the day to test how his angelic powers worked on crowded places. Did the age, the sex or the amount of people around affect his capacities? So far, he had only your reactions as base to confirm what could be deemed normal and what not. He just had to find an area with enough room but sufficiently close to another groups of people to- You squeezed his hand in your tiny one and Gabriel lost track of his thoughts, looking at you. You were bouncing again.

“Have you ever been there, Gaby?” You squeaked, pointing with your full arm towards a big building painted in shades of blue. Its huge sign read ‘Aquarium’ and had decorations around, mostly resembling bubbles and colourful fishes. He shook his head, waiting for your reaction and you beamed. “Wanna go in? Not all zoos have aquariums within but this one does! I thought maybe you had been in one if not in a zoo.”

“No. Not yet, at least.”

It soon was clear that he was telling the truth. One can know what an animal looks like in books and videos, but going inside a building where the light became dark and artificial the moment you crossed the glass doors, and having him stopping on his tracks at the first sight of one of the tanks, his face casted in light and shadow... It was a nice picture, and you tagged along him in silence, waiting patiently for him to be finished with every exhibit. You looked at him, and found his expression painted with amazement and wonder.

“I take you like it here?”

Gabriel nodded but said nothing, eyes following the soft path of bubbles a big yellow fish had left behind climb up to the surface. He wasn’t even bothering with the information planks, enraptured with the scene unfolding in front of him.

Earth animals he knew, with their fur, scales and feathers, and barks and singing and hissing. He was familiar with the smells and the light, mostly frenetic waves of emotion that came from them. He knew what a prey felt when it was being hunted. He knew the still but agitated feeling from a predator spotting its next meal. The chase, the carnage, the feeding. It was life exactly as God had planned it. What was developing in front of his very eyes felt foreign, a strange mixture between the biggest effort from his creator and not at all at the same time. Where the oceans God’s biggest achievement or did she just leave it to grow on its own?

Gabriel couldn’t tell.

He could only perceive the sounds of the water and how it drowned significantly the emotions from the fishes, it they had any. It was silent from the tanks and also outside of them, the dark lights and soft ambient coercing the humans to speak either in low, hushed tones or not at all. The dark backgrounds, the flashes of colour from the erratic fishes and yet not a sound anywhere, it all made the Archangel feel very small. It wasn’t frightening, for the most part.

The aquarium wasn’t very big, not if you compared it with the ones that were solely dedicated to their own purpose instead of being part of the zoo compound. You never had found fishes or crustaceans attention worthy and looking through the glass of their tanks gave you headaches if you stared for too long. It was alright, you thought, because you had someone much more interesting to look at.

You stayed there for hours, going back and forth through the passages and sitting inside the tunnel tanks, staring at the sharks and whales and their bellies.

* * *

The sun in summer sets down late, and its hesitance gave you a window of time big enough to convince Gabriel to buy a cheap blanket and go eat lunch at one of the big parks that surrounded the zoo. You had already visited everything, so why not spend the afternoon chilling outside? You were fine laying on the grass, but your companion very much preferred to ‘spend a few pounds and not get his behind green with stains and mud, thank you very much for your concern’. In the end, neither of you sat on the blanket, for the wind had picked up and opted to force Gabriel to cover himself with it. You were not giving up his sweater, you had said, and if he wanted it, he had to pry it from your cold, dead fingers.

So, you two ended up sitting on a bench, your ass comfortably placed on the backrest instead besides Gabriel’s, who was sitting like a normal human for the very first time in his life. He wasn’t liking the blanket for a second, but every time he attempted to take it off, you’d whistle and blow raspberries at him. He surrendered after one hour of struggle, funnily enough.

There you stayed, far enough from the lake Gabriel had chosen to sit in front after learning your distrust of ducks -he was an arsehole and you were willing to not only call him that in public but to write it in sharpie on his forehead he moment he made the mistake to fall asleep in a common area- when you saw, through the corner of your eye, a familiar red haired guy with a dark pair of shades on.

Trying your best to keep it inconspicuous as not to alert Gabriel, you hummed a dumb song at the same time you waved at him with your fingers. When you looked a bit more obviously, you saw Crowley’s boyfriend too, the two of them frozen on their spot, ice-creams melting in their cones. You saw the marshmallow man whisper something to him, eyeing Gabriel cautiously, but they waved back at you.

“I still cannot see what you find so distressing about ducks.” Gabriel pitched in, giving you the scare of your life. “Birds are incredibly intelligent creatures, after all. One would think that is reason enough to like them.”

“Have you ever looked in the eyes of a duck, Gaby?” You reached a napkin with one hand while gesturing wildly with the other, pointing at the lake and the feathery congregation that hogged the sharply dressed passers-by with their screams. “You hear them yelling? They want food, bread, but they will take blood if they are not satisfied with the offerings.”

“I know your thinking process is not what scientists would refer as normal, but you have to be joking right now. Ducks are harmless and innocent creatures.”

“Oh? Am I? Are they?” You fetched the pen you always had inside one of your pockets -waitress professional deformation is to blame here- and scribbled your phone number on the napkin, folding it and holding it at your back. “You call me crazy and unreasonable but the day those damned birds discover how to bake bread themselves is the day the human race loses the fight. Mark my words, you fool, and save yourself!”

While Gabriel busied himself with the most annoying eyeroll known to mankind till this date, you felt someone snatch the napkin from you, and when you looked at the offender you found the couple quickly passing behind the bench. The marshmallow man smiled at you, gesturing with his head, and winked, walking fast while holding Crowley’s hand to get as far from you two as possible.

* * *

After that, the rest of the afternoon when uneventful. Gabriel and you returned home, he showered off the dust he had gained during the day and you cooked dinner. He sassed you the whole time because you still had his sweater on, and you took off your pants and threw them at his face.

“If you want it back so bad then why not come here an get it, Gabe?” The clothing was big enough to almost reach your knees, yet just holding your pants on his hands kept your roommate quiet for the rest of the night, extinguishing the teasing like a bucket of water on a fire match.

“Keep it then but maintain it clean.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“...You have the annoying habit of losing clothes when around me, haven’t you noticed?” He mused, busy in the kitchen. He was getting better, and now you just hang out with him there when it was time to eat. You didn’t mind cooking, but it was way better is someone did it for you.

You blushed, pursing your lips. “I don’t know whatever you are talking about.”

“Just this Saturday you yelled at me to undress you from your work shirt and now you throw your pants at me. I’m certain there’s a message here I’m not quite getting. Mind explaining yourself?”

“It’s not like I have to.”

“It’s not like I’m the one sitting there, butt naked, wearing only my jumper and some lousy shirt underneath.”

You know what? Ricky the Rich Bitch wasn’t going to tease you. You were the one with the shape of his ass burned in your brain. You were way beyond shame at this point. “You could be, tho.” You should really shut up. “Lose the pants and make us equal, G.” Listen, really, just shut up. Stop digging your own hole, alright.

For either best or worse, Gabriel only scoffed at you, not taking your words seriously. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had consumed something unrecommendable.”

“I haven’t, but that’s got a quick fix.” You weren’t big on drinking alone, finding it sad, but you weren’t technically alone, right? Even if your only companion rather stay sober than join you. With that thought in mind you fetched a can of beer from the fridge, ready to accompany it with dinner.

You had to work early the day after and called it a night around eleven, bidding Gabriel goodnight. You were ready to sleep, already setting the alarms to wake up again in few hours and a bit lightheaded because of the beer -gosh, were you a lightweight or what- when you felt your phone vibrate in you hand.

**_Unknown number:_ ** _Guess who_

**_You:_ ** _Gimme a clue, stranger_

**_Unknown number:_ ** _It pains me that you had forgotten me this soon_

**_Unknown number:_ ** _Found your sugar daddy already?_

**_You:_ ** _Zip it, Janthony_

**_Janthony:_** _There she is_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright? Where to from now on? What do we do? We should totally keep throwing clothes at Gabriel, I'm just saying. Seems like a good idea.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and special thanks to those who bother to leave a comment here! You guys make my day better and my heart melt.
> 
> See you on the next update!


	8. The Chicken Is Crazy Proud Of His Fluffiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to your day to day life. Guess what? Your job still sucks a whole deal.
> 
> Gabriel is a clean guy, but his head is all over the place.
> 
> Crowley doesn't know what to do with his life.
> 
> The only one that seems to have his shit together is Aziraphale, praise the Lord. Lady. Whatever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just started my vacation time today! It's good, the weather is not too hot and the wi-fi doesn't suck too bad (I've only tried to update this fic trice!).
> 
> Enjoy and I'll see you in the end notes!

“One would say you enjoy music” was Gabriel’s greeting on Tuesday morning. He had sighed and resigned to his melodic fate during his push up routine, since you had barricaded yourself in the kitchen, already dressed up in your uniform and mixing stuff in a big coffee mug. You had been up for a short half an hour and the warm weather was already feeding you up, so you had decided to boost your mood with some good-old tunes.

“One would, wouldn’t they?” You hummed like a smart-ass, singing louder than the rumbling of the microwave heating up -in this case straight up cooking- your breakfast. You tossed Gabriel a juicy pear, turning the volume in your phone a tad down as to hear him better. “I wonder if they’d be correct. Is something giving me away? I surely hope not, oh dear.”

“Small details, nothing that cannot be overlooked.” He winced when eyeing you, immediately reaching to readjust the collar of your crisp white shirt and then fetching a clean plate and knife to peel the fruit. Just because you were raised in the lone wilderness didn’t mean he had to eat his breakfast like a caveman. He pointed at you nonchalantly. “Is that, perchance, a mug cake yet again? You have been eating that for two days now.”

“I have _not._ Besides, I’ve just finally cracked the recipe for the perfect b-day mug cake, you bet I’m gonna be eating that ‘till I get sick, figuratively _and_ literally. Imma finish my week in the hospital.” You burned your fingers with your mug when the microwave beeped, but dig with your spoon in the sprinkly mess, nonetheless, blowing on it as to limit damage just to your hand. Everything was calculated down to the T. Damn, you should had been an engineer; you sucked at math a whole deal, let’s be honest, but you were a visionary. That should level it! Oh, way ahead of your time, you sneaky thing, you! “I’ll return to the flavourless and sand-textured excuse of oatmeal they make here soon enough, don’t worry.”

“Oatmeal is good.”

“Of course you’d defend it! You two share the same personality traits.” You heard the warning sound, that tattletale tsk, yet he was still too fast to be dodged, and rushed the half-bitten fruit inside your mouth. You chocked on it but surrendered to your new nutritious fate and finished the bite on your own, grumbling and tossing him the pear back. “Hgk! One day you’re going to kill me if you keep doing that!”

“You hear that? I present to you the world’s smallest violin.”

You were, oh, so tempted to bonk him in the head with your dirty spoon. You did try, but he was so goddamn tall and his reflexes so sharp -either that or you were just predictable- you didn’t come close to gracing him. At all. Not even by mistake. Bitch. “I regret you finding my urban references’ book everyday you’re alive.”

“I see you’re in good humour this morning.”

Gabriel sang to himself, not bothering to follow the current song playing, as you picked the phone, lowering tis volume and dropping t back on the table. He never did; you were the one responsible for any kind of common entertainment in the apartment so far, as the Archangel could never find something to amuse both of you. Music was a constant in your life, and Gabriel had had no choice but to surrender his weapons on that front. Nowadays, if the time was right and the song predictable enough, you would catch him humming softly under his breath.

“Hm? What- Oh, yeah.” You shrugged, whistling your wait to your chair -you had started claiming things in the apartment by putting stickers on them, and now the kitchen chair had a beautiful _nouveau art décor_ in the shape of glittery turtles; you loved it, Gabriel? Who cares. “Yesterday was a super easy day at the restaurant and not having to stop myself from hurling porcelain dinner plates to customers’ faces really seems to be doing it for me? Not going to question it, really. Gifted horse and the mouth, knock on wood, yadda yadda.”

Your phone pinged, interrupting what you had called thirty seconds before ‘the song that would end all wars and water all the crops on this godforsaken planet’. Gabriel expected you to groan, do your _dramatic hair flip_ -patent pending- and wait for the music to restart. Classic you, predictable, giving Gabriel’s existence its much needed stability thanks to your mundane actions-

You, however, reached the device fast as a lightning. Gabriel, somehow surprised, bit the pear so hard he went through the fruit’s core like a merciless knife on soft butter. He chocked a bit.

“Something interesting you’re waiting for?”

“One sec” you raised your finger to stop his talking, mouth full of caked spoon and smiling at the phone’s screen, typing like a madwoman. Gabriel shuddered, perplexed at the sudden wave of happiness coming from you. “Sorry, a friend. What were you saying?”

“They must be quite interesting if you’re willing to sacrifice your cake to the solitude of the British morning.” Gabriel mussed, forcing his voice to keep its balance instead of the weird, irregular shifts it wanted to do. Even with his material from under possession for this long and yet it still rebelled against his desired reactions, unbelievable. He wasn’t snippy either, if you must know- _not that you were interested,_ he assumed, witnessing in bafflement your flippant lack of concern.

“He is _really_ funny, if you must now”. Why were you smiling at the screen, Gabriel wondered, pear unexpectedly bitter in his mouth. You snorted when the ping came again, breakfast and spoon forgotten on the table as you chatted you friend. Then, you did something with your face. Bad reaction? It was a wild guess, but he had learnt not to follow conventional alleys regarding your behaviour. It paid off most of the time. “Fudge!”

“ _Fudge?_ ”

“I’m gonna be late for work!” You cursed, abandoning your meal for good and dashing to your room to get your shoes and bag.

Gabriel turned in the chair, nose scrunched. “Why did you say _fudge,_ of all things-”

“Didn’t you want me to stop cursing or whatever? I’m trying to make you more comfortable. You’re so very lucky I find English kids’ swears funny! I’m using fudge today!”

“What-?”

But you were already at the key-bowl by the entrance, a big sweater hanging in your arms and bag bouncing everywhere. Gabriel saw you trip with your ugly trainers, fearing you’d fall and break your nose- you stopped the drama with the wall and your shoulder, angrily kicking the shoes to kingdom come and resenting their whole presence in your life. Gabriel would have to fish them from the kitchen sink later. He was going to protest your lack of care, not for your belongings, but to the general hygiene in the apartment, when you rudely interrupted him again, eyes glued still to your phone’s screen.

“See you tonight! Don’t terrorize anyone on the street! Bye!”

The door slammed closed, and Gabriel sat alone in a very silent house. He had that unwelcome feeling still in his mouth... Knowing his luck, the pear was probably bad. Stupid mortal plane and stupid food. He better go brush his teeth now, get the bitter flavour out in order to start his day the appropriate way, that is, clean and with a fresh breath.

Yes.

Good.

... No, he was not bothered by your happiness. He was still in the receiving end of the waves, and it was good and healthy that he was not your only source of positive emotions. He was glad your social circle was expanding, for you had voiced your concerns at your lack of friends despite all the time you had lived in Britain and all the new people you had met thanks to your job.

It also meant he could enjoy the waves produced regardless, now having to try half as hard to get the same results. Positive waves were good for angels, they kept their feathers shiny and fresh and their eyes so much more colourful. Now Gabriel could enjoy his nice appearance.

Not that it was bad when you were unhappy. Gabriel took pride in the way he presented himself to others, and as an Archangel his looks had to be their very best every single moment of the day, the tops notch among celestial creatures, not only that but also counting the humans, who were not going to impress themselves, at the very peak of its...!

Where was he going with this again?

The screen.

No, not the screen.

Your friend-

No!

Happiness. Yes. Waves of happiness to keep his feathered, celestial body beautiful and fluffy. That was a good path to follow. Didn’t you say you were going to spend the whole day outside, occupied with your job? Gabriel could take the chance and preen himself. He had not done it since the day he was sent to Earth and it was a long time coming anyway.

Alright! That is a good way to invest his time! 

Gabriel knew humanity was underserving of angelic presences upon them, he had witnessed and explored societies well enough to realise that, and having his neighbours ogle his more developed form -within the limitations that came with the mortal plane- was a big no-no. The first step was to get some privacy, and he took his time closing the curtains from the balcony, the rooms’ doors and even the peephole at the entrance door. All precautions were necessary.

The Archangel did think about cleaning himself in his own dormitory, more used to the furniture and the space distribution in the narrow room, but then he came to the conclusion his wings were so not going to fit in there it was laughable. Resolved, with the flat double checked secure for good measure and all the lights on as to provide for a precise and clean preening area, Gabriel stretched his arms.

Wings, when trapped in a material body, behaved as if they were a physical part of it, and muscle preparation, loosing knots and possible tension was the first step he always took. Once he felt relaxed enough, rubbing his shoulders, Gabriel took of his clothes -no use in staining them with preening oil, and that would be something difficult to explain were you to come across it on laundry day- and sat on the middle of the empty living room. He would miracle back the couch before you came home, and you’d be none the wiser.

Pair by pair, bottom to top, his six wings unfurled. Gabriel groaned in satisfaction, closing his eyes. It felt so _good_ he didn’t bother to retain the satisfied sigh that came though his mouth. He gave himself a few minutes to enjoy the newfound freedom; preening in Heaven was another business to take care of, even if he had the offered help from other angels. Many had volunteered to assist him during his cleaning rituals, and he usually didn’t feel comfortable picking favourites -everyone was equal upstairs, only tagged by their angelic rank-, so Michael was always his safest go-to. She was fast and efficient, and kept quiet the whole time, not willing to entertain anyone with ludicrous chitchat.

Touching one’s feathers was supposed to be an intimate gesture, but Gabriel had come to see it as the celestial equivalent of a medical check. Many angels deemed the process special and a way to get closer to their lovers – love was a huge thing up there, and angels were not limited by the ‘just pick one and shut up’ monogamy thing humans had adopted as a law in their plane. Gabriel was as well-trained sorting his feathers right as police officer picking apart their gun. Quick, right to the point, no stalling, get it done.

Six wings was trice as hard to preen as any regular angel, however, and by the time he was finished -skipping some points along each extremity, for he could not possible reach them- the flat’s floor was covered in a white, soft blanket of discarded feathers that glowed with holy power from within. Most of them were tiny and extremely soft and sparkled under the lamps’ light like covered in glitter. The rest of them, ranging between an index and his whole palm’s wideness in size, were shining from their stem and radiating it though its surface like they ran on freshly charged batteries. In Heaven, the leftovers were sorted by consistency and holiness capability and grinded down to a fine dust. It was delivered to the guardian angels’ division and everyone took a pinch to foment good luck in their protégée’s life, and the remaining dust was given to a lucky new-born cherub -chosen fairly in a raffle- to be sparkled on a rainbow. It was a whole thing. 

Here, on Earth, Gabriel didn’t know what to do. He could ask Aziraphale, perhaps? On the other hand, the Principality was known for his affinity to messes. Hence why he was pursuing the romantic affections of a demon, of all creatures. Well, he couldn’t just throw them in the trash can, it felt _wrong._ Angelic feathers were not garbage, who knew the mayhem they could provoke in the city were someone inadequate to come across them. Otherworldly influences and feeble human minds didn’t go well together.

...You had been complaining recently about you pillow, hadn’t you? About it softening due to use and washes. What if he-? No one in Heaven would frown upon him, an Archangel, helping a fellow human being in need of a good rest, right? It could be his good action for the day. Now, thinking about it... If he cut the biggest feathers down and miracled them to be even more comfortable than the tiny ones, he would be able to fill a whole new pillow cover with them, also making it thicker, therefore better for your neck? Right? It could count as his good action for the week! The better the pillow, the better his action.

Flawless logic.

He miracled all of the feathers inside a bag, humming satisfied, and applied the preening oil to his wings. Al lot of oil for a lot of wings, after all, and it took him the rest of the morning to finish. By the time he was done, however, Gabriel felt incredibly good, and not wasting a second he dressed up and went to buy a nice pillow cover for you.

* * *

Somehow, no matter how meticulously you tried to avoid it, you always ended picking up fights with customers. You didn’t even like to fight! Confronting people always turned you into an anxious, trembling and stuttering mess, and the other side used it, without fault, to pick on you even more.

Lunch time was the right time for life to fucking ruin your day, you knew, when you saw Chris and one of the girls from the other night cross the door of the cosy restaurant and make themselves at home in a free table in your work zone. The girl, you recognized her being the one that sat shotgun with Chris, smiled at you coyly. You made your best attempt yet not to frown. It wasn’t coming quite right. 

“Are you waiting for an invitation? Go serve them!” Your manager rudely pushed you out of the kitchen area. You had told him about your drama night with that specific group of waiters, and while Robbie had been red in the face and boiling, your boss had preferred the pacific outing. Did you agree? Did it matter if you agreed, anyway? The answer to both questions was a solid no. “Show them how customers should be attended!”

You took in a deep breath, got your shit together and strolled to their table with the biggest, widest and fakest smile you could manage. Your stomach twisted with anxiety and anger, and you knew from second one you were so _not_ going to be able to play anything cool. “Good afternoon and welcome to-”

“Hello, girlie.”

“Hey, chickie. So long, uh?”

That was the best conversation you could give them. From then on, it was only snappy answers and outstandingly rude comments regarding your work ethics and your general appearance from top to bottom. You had to ask Robbie to swap work zones at some point. You just _couldn’t do it_. Your manager tried to stop you from going into the resting room past the kitchen, having kept an eye on you the whole time just in case you were going to ‘lose it’. He had done absolutely nothing, and you were seeing red.

“You are in the middle of your shift! You can’t just run away from some problematic customers! Grow some backbone, girl, and get out there to show them what’s-”

“You are fully aware my problem is not with customers” you hissed, clenching your teeth, facing him like a venomous snake ready to bite. “If you really want me to keep me doing my job, you’ll do something about personnel harassment!” He remained quiet and you shoved your way past him to the resting area. “My shift ends now, and I’ll see you tomorrow, thank you very much.”

The moment the door closed, and you realised you were fully alone, the barriers you had built teared themselves apart. You went for your locker, half-sobbing and wiping your eyes. Opening the locker, something soft fell on your face.

“Oh, right! Absolutely great-“ You had done it again. It was Gabriel’s sweater. Gigantic, grey and embroidered with a pair of wings like all his workout clothes. What in the heck was wrong with you, really. About time someone told you, huh? Then maybe you would be able to stop yourself from fucking up so much, that’d be cool.

Utterly defeated, you sat your butt on one of the plastic chairs, curling up and holding the sweater close. Now, if someone came into the room, you’d may be able of burying your whole head in the fabric as to hide the fucking breakdown you were having. Your best plan yet.

Well. You just had to cry it out and then go home. You could do that. You had so much practice you had become a master at crying things out. God, was that sad or what?

The sudden buzz of your phone vibrating against the metal planks that shaped the locker stirred you up from your teary fate. It did it again, and again, and again, and you realised someone was calling you. Ugh, alright. You wobbled to pick the phone up and crumbled again onto the chair.

“Yes?”

A familiar voice hummed on the other side. “ _So, what’s wrong._ ”

“Piss off, Anthony. I’m so not in the mood.”

Crowley hummed again, somehow even lower, and you returned to your rightful place between the folds of Gabriel’s sweater. “ _Bad day at work, I’m assuming from the time? I can make it better._ ”

“Oh, really. Good for you. Now sod off.”

“ _I can **kiss** it better too._”

“Next time I see you I’m going to make you swallow an entire kettle.”

“ _Oh, kinky._ ” You growled in warning, really not up to banter with the read head and he seemed to take it more seriously this time. “ _A’ight, a’ight. What you say we make it real? Come to the bookshop? You did say you wanted to meet my... just come here. Taxi’s on me._ ”

“Your what. I want to hear you say it.” You whined, smiling in your foldy prison. “I satisfy your kinks then you get mine.”

“ _Now it’s yer’ time to sod off, love. Be quick._ ” He had the nerve to hang up. Gosh, he was so full of shit. You liked him so bad. Shitlord.

Would it be weird to wear the sweater? Weren’t you beyond that point now, however? Yes, and yes. It was so big you could see even the first buttons on your work shirt, and the formal pants and shoes gave the outfit a really odd look. Good. You know, as long as someone became uncomfortable when looking at you everything would be okay. What were you turning into, that you weren’t able to ruin a single person’s day with just one glance? You had to up your game.

...You know? If you didn’t count the pants, it did look kind like your style. And the sweater’s quality was over the roof. What the hell. You took a selfie and considered sending it to Gabriel. An ‘I did it again, you lose!’ text, sort of. Too forward. You were being extra weird around your roommate lately. Yeah, no. Let’s cut him some slack, he’s been nice so far. Maybe you could show it to him when you went back home? That sounded way better than taking pics of yourself in his clothing at work.

* * *

“Really, how slow are taxis today? She shoulda’ been here for an hour now!”

Aziraphale, thick and dusty book resting pacifically on his lap, licked his lips clean of the sip of tea he had just taken. It was good, flavourful, not too bitter, and definitely something people from upstairs had failed to replicate for centuries now. In front of him, Crowley paced the area, kicking the rug under which rested the Metatron’s summoning circle. He wasn’t worried the old serpent was going to call the Voice of God, but of him tripping and breaking his nose on the floor. It was a quick fix, of course, but the bigger the pain he could save his beloved from, the better.

“Crowley, dear, you just hang up ten seconds ago” he protested, eyeing carefully the demon’s agitated steps. “Give the girl some time; she was distressed, you had said? Leave her to calm down and come when she feels better.”

“...She was crying, y’know? Broken voice and everything, the whole ordeal. Work stuff. I’m telling you, this reeks Gabriel levels of bullshit.” Crowley kept walking, extremely mindful of his surroundings as not to crash against a tower of pilled books. Aziraphale had given him a _look_ when he accidentally destroyed one two days ago -the books safe thanks to a quick demonic snap of fingers, however- and he wasn’t ready to face the disappointed glare just yet. 

Aziraphale tsked and stood up to put his book back in its rightful place. He brushed Crowley’s hip under his coat on his way, and when he turned around the demon had turned a shiny shade of pink. “Poor thing, shall I ready a pot of tea for her when she arrives?” And he went to do it anyway.

Crowley dutifully followed his angel, and perched himself in a corner, between pans and a rusty coffee grinder Aziraphale had bought in Vienna three hundred years ago and never used. “What if she doesn’t like tea? Remember she’s a foreigner.”

“Well, then I’ll just make whatever beverage she prefers, yes?” Aziraphale nodded to himself, still preparing the kettle. He could miracle his tea the way he liked, but what was the point in missing mundane activities? Miracles were for other purpose, like getting _you_ something you wanted to consume.

It took Crowley ten whole minutes, a new record as far as Aziraphale was aware, to lose his patience and start his pacing again, and you, another forty to arrive to the bookshop. As soon as you entered the shop, bell’s chiming accompanying you inside, the demon rushed to greet you, Aziraphale calmly walking a bit behind.

“I’ve even gotten new wrinkles sitting my ass here for you!”

“Well, now you know you have to stand up when waiting for me. Lesson learned.” You patted Crowley out of the way and extended your hand to his lovely boyfriend, giving him your name. “A pleasure to finally meet you. Expectations are high.”

“Aziraphale” the shopkeeper mused, a tender smile on his face. Oh, alright, so he was an angel. Okay. You could deal with him, totes. “It’s delightful to finally make your acquaintance.”

“That is a beautiful name.” No, you did _not_ stutter. His accent was smooth, every word nailed down perfectly, and he sang every sentence. You wanted one. “I... Augh, uh...”

“I made tea, if you would like some?” The blonde offered, ever gentle, and you felt Crowley’s mocking eyes drilling on the back of your head. He also didn’t stop himself from snorting like a coughing pig. Jackass.

“Yes! Ehrm, yes. Yes, please.” Totally not awkward. The day was getting better by the second. Go you. A certain long fingered hand found home on your shoulder as you leisurely followed Aziraphale to the back of the shop library.

“Real smooth, you.”

“Just close your yapper hole, Janthony. I still own you a kettle through the throat.”

You heard him hum something close to Queen. It could be, everybody loves Queen. You did, at least, even if you had to look up the lyric every time to follow and sing along the music. He was chipper and friendly, and kept your pace when walking despite his extremely long legs. “Really nice sweater too, huh? Where’d you get it?”

And he pinched the part were the embroidered wings rested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo? What do you think? IS Crowley going to be a little bitch?  
> Yes?  
> No?  
> Suggestions?
> 
> For the next two weeks I can promise no updates, since I'm off on vacation. I'll try to write tho, but I make no deals with anyone :)
> 
> See you guys in the next update and thanks to everyone who left a comment in the last chapter! <3


	9. Ruffled  Feathers and Whatnot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So you actually have no friends, huh? It hurts like a bitch. Fuck Crowley.
> 
> Gabriel chokes. What the fuck are feelings. Eugh.
> 
> You cry a lot.
> 
> Listen, someone help Aziraphale. Get him a cup of tea or something. A pat in the back. Get him something! He deserves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll see how many attempts I need to update this chapter. It's currently 23:58, August 23th, attempt one.
> 
> Vacation is good, mosquitoes are not. I hate mosquitoes.
> 
> I'll see you guys in the end notes!

Your first two months in England had been hard and lonely, filled with problems regarding boring paperwork in order to get permission to work, permission to rent an apartment, permission to even breathe. The following two months after those were even worse, even if you had now a roof to sleep under; you had always enjoyed solitude, books and music, and you had though starting a new life in a different country would bring you your desired and well-deserved me-time. You didn’t have that luck; the shadow of your family pestering you to return to your homeland, not knowing anyone in your workplace, the lack of time to get a proper meal in between shifts... The most pleasant company you got was from Sartorius, your thick-leaved plant. At least he was quiet and didn’t pester you with intrusive questions or mocking observations. Sarcasm was truly the worst, you had learnt.

Being a foreigner had been a curse.

You always had your friends but refused to call them as often as you would had liked. They had a life, too, and were busy living it; they didn’t have to be burdened with your complains about your new home. What if you made them feel like you were bragging? What if you interrupted something important they were doing? Better not.

You could survive and do it on your own. It wasn’t a pride thing. You just needed to prove yourself you were capable of being independent. Time would progress, efforts would provide.

You had few acquaintances at work; your squeamish boss, a cook that was nice enough to save you some leftovers instead of throwing them in the trash when you worked in the restaurant and Robbie. Robbie was good, but older than you and somehow intimidating. You didn’t really want to give him trouble or distract him from his work. He was playful with his work friends, you had discovered, but always maintained a polite yet serious façade with you. You didn’t feel like questioning it at the time -plenty satisfied with how little he mocked your accent- and, while you regretted it a bit now, you wouldn’t risk it. You’d do it again if you had to repeat it all over. Better safe than sorry, you know the drill.

And, right when the cold of the winter left room for the flowers, like a spring blessing, Gabriel came into your life. The first impression he gave you was from a man that had been imprisoned in a white box all his life and then suddenly kicked out, a gold credit card in one hand and a ‘How to Do Everything for Dummies’ book in the other and released upon the world like an ancient but clueless curse. He made you crazy, that’s for sure, but brought normality back into your life, as strange as it would seem. Actual cooking, organized schedules, social activities -even if limited to grocery shopping-, a clean-living space and real, out loud conversations with backs and fords instead of imagining what your plant would reply had it had a mouth or a mind.

You had kept him a secret from your family.

You knew, you knew exactly what they would say if they learnt you had been living with someone in your tiny flat. Your brother, younger than you and always the chatty one, would grunt and perhaps make a joke at your expenses; your father would wait and see what your mother’s reaction would be, and your mother... well, your mother was- she wouldn’t be pleased. She would be so angry she was capable of getting in a plane, yelling through the phone the whole way to London, just to be able to scream at your face about everything you were doing wrong. Which was, in her all-knowing, flawless opinion, absolutely everything. She would try to drag you back, too, under her rules and her criticism, and to shame you in front of your family. She always gloated your failures, puffing and huffing like a hot air balloon. So, yeah, Gabriel was, as some people would put it -definitely what your friends did- your dirty little secret.

Crowley? Oh, Crowley was so full of possibilities. You had been so excited with him and boasted about his stupid ass with our friends the very moment you could reach a phone. Albeit his speech was hard to follow -and you did not get any better at understanding him with the time, unfortunately-, he was witty, fun and absolutely ridiculous. He was like a harlequin with sunglasses; friendly, cocky... And you felt like you had made a real friend. Gabriel was cool, but he was somehow forced to be nice to you -he still had that odd feeling around him, that made you feel like he belonged in a superior plane of reality- because he was your roommate. Crowley was a nobody from the streets, with no relation to you, or your work or your very own house. It was like starting from zero! So, so much potential-!

It was a problem you had not foresighted. Did you regret it? Hard to say.

Things could go great in starting friendships and discovering things from the other half was new and exciting. He had a boyfriend, a rocking car, hissed when nervous and never, ever, took off his glasses. You thought you had your Crowley 101 Course basics covered. And you had been so terribly wrong it broke your heart.

You knew you had reached a stop when Aziraphale had to pry Crowley away from you almost with physical force, grabbing the hand that held you by Gabriel’s sweater while trying to convince the red-haired man to be reasonable. Reasonable about what, you didn’t know. You hadn’t been scared, exactly, but you weren’t very happy either.

“Crowley, dear, just let her come and sit, and then we can talk things calmly over a cup of tea...” It took Aziraphale three tries to get Crowley to give you some breathing room, and while the dark dressed man wasn’t putting up a fight, it did seem his partner was restraining him somehow, soft, chubby hands settled on top of his forearms, and body between the two of you.

So. You didn’t know Crowley as well as you had though, huh?

Aziraphale gave you a quivering look, and you felt that same fresh vibe Gabriel gave you when he wanted to buy something weird during grocery time and requested your approval. You thought that was something only your roommate could do, manipulating you in such a way, and discovering the shopkeeper was capable of it too twisted your guts. “If you could please give us a moment, ”he requested, voice smooth as silk, “it seems we need to have a quick chat. We’ll be right back, do not worry; just let me get you the tea, you must know I have just prepared it, and...”

You looked at Crowley, body so visibly tense that, if you played him like a violin, the melody produced could shatter all the windows in the bookshop in a split-second. His head was turned, lips contracted in a silent growl aimed at his boyfriend, and yet you could still feel his eyes, which you had never seen, going straight through your very soul.

You know what?

You wanted out.

You had had the worst, most horrendous day, breakdown included. You wanted the man to be your friend, alright, and his boyfriend was absolutely adorable and nice, but you didn’t need this shit right now. Not today, not this week. They had clearly recognized the sweater as Gabriel’s, and they probably wanted explanations... You remembered Gabriel saying something about Aziraphale breaking some rules in his company, and then Crowley doing the same to his, and you wanted no part in this bullshit.

You had told Gabriel you wanted to know more about his relationship with Aziraphale, but now, after the longest day and almost a whole month of idiotic, useless fighting with your roomie, you had a different opinion. If this was going to give you trouble, not only with Gabriel, but also in a personal level, it wasn’t worth the effort. You could waste your curiosity somewhere else.

Whatever problem they had with your roommate, they could keep to themselves.

And so, you took a step back, grin tight and workbag pressed against your chest and, in the politest voice you could manage, refused his offer: “I’m so very sorry, Aziraphale,” you said, carefully avoiding Crowley’s hunched figure and scorching eyes. “But I just remembered I have something to do at home.”

“Seems fake but ok” grunted Crowley, all sympathy gone through the drain. You felt really cold. Aziraphale shushed him, but that didn’t stop the disgruntled man you had considered your friend. “Hear me out, whatever crap you two are planning ain’t flying nowhere. We had a _deal_.”

“Crowley!” Snapped the blonde, harshly tugging on his sleeve.

“It’s good that I don’t own you no explanation, isn’t it?” Why were you fighting, when you could just leave? Crowley’s words, despite foreign, hurt you. You wanted to leave, to turn to the door and cross it and disappear. Yet you couldn’t. It was infuriating, like the soles of your shoes were glued to the floor, and you missed the adamant glare Aziraphale was giving to your feet.

“Explanation? You don’ ‘ave to explain a thing. It’s so obvious. And here we were thinking you could trust people from upstairs. At least my guys keep the end of the deal.” He nudged Aziraphale, whose eyes were still stuck to your feet. “And you said we were getting more time! Ha! The joke’s on us.”

“Oh, Crowley, that is certainly _not_ what I told you Gabriel said last time!” The man protested, frowning at his boyfriend. “I told you they came in here by accident-!”

The moment you felt your strength back on your legs, you turned around. Your lips trembled, and you wanted to cry so, so bad. That’s what happens when you hope too hard, you guessed; the disappointment hit you like a train.

You left the building, deciding to walk back home instead of taking a taxi or the subway. It would give you time to calm down, and maybe you’d make it home late enough for Gabriel to not suspect a thing. You really didn’t want to have to explain the whole ordeal, and knew your roommate would respect your desires if you preferred to keep it quiet... But you didn’t want him to think you were hiding things from him. Even if you were. 

Of one thing you were sure.

Every time you entered the bookshop you exited it with your anxiety over the roof. As beautiful as the building was, and interesting the book collection that rested within its walls...

It wasn’t worth the trouble.

* * *

Gabriel jumped from his place on the couch, were he had invested the afternoon filling carefully a pillowcase. It was decorated beautifully with colourful threat engravings jumping in and out of the soft fabric like dolphins in the sea, and the second his eyes had landed on it, the Archangel knew it was just for you. The patterns were erratic yet geometrical and crossed the cushion’s surface to and fro. The thing Gabriel liked the most, however, was how vibrant the colours turned thanks to the angelic feathers contained within the cover.

Was it wrong that he was proud of his doing? One should not dwell on pride, for it was a sin, but he couldn’t stop himself from the smile that reached his face when he imagined how high you were going to jump, so grateful for his mindfulness...

He wasn’t doing it for the praise!

He was _not._ You had had some rough weeks at work, worsened by your discussion at home, and he wanted to compensate you for all the information he was withholding from you. He didn’t feel guilty for it, as it was his duty to protect Heaven’s endeavours on Earth. Such sensitive information could not be divulged freely, specially to humanity. Gabriel was a serious Archangel, aware of his responsibilities and the consequences his actions would carry at any moment of the day. Many angels had been casted out in the old days because of their big mouths, and he knew better.

_He would never do anything that would cost him his wings._

...That didn’t mean he couldn’t do his own little bindings on the medium plane, though. The Metatron had taken away his powers, and he had only been capable of retaining enough to cast small miracles and teleport certain distances.

 _What he was doing now, however_ , he thought to himself, placing a bunch of glittery feathers inside the pillow and smoothing them with utmost delicacy, _was none of the sorts._ Gifting your unknowing person a vessel of discarded angel feathers did not risk Heaven’s safety, or his entrusted mission on Earth. It wasn’t inconsequential, for it involved holy material nonetheless, but he saw no harm in his doings, and just by that logic, it _was_ truly harmless.

Wonderful thing, an angel’s imagination. One would say it shaped the world.

And, to some extent, it did.

Suddenly, Gabriel choked, his throat closing violently to the wave of utter sadness that hit him. “Hgk!” It was coming from the street, so strong and dense he had to fetch one of his own feathers and rub it against his chest to alleviate the heaviness. His hands trembled. “What, in the holy name of the Almighty...!”

He went for the window, steps unsteady and wobbly, trying to find the source where such a terrible feeling was coming from. He _had_ to help whatever miserable soul was struggling under that sensation; no human, no matter how disgraced their kind was, deserved to suffer like that. If he could just pinpoint the origin... You could receive his gift any other day, he was sure. He had a duty, _god given,_ to assist, to alleviate-

_There._

His heart, strangely enough, sank inside his chest, heavy as a rock.

He spotted a familiar patch of hair, the white of your shirt and the ragged, dirty fabric that barely held together your workbag. Was that... It _was_ his sweater you were wearing. You rubbed the item and looked down at the plastic, white bag you carried in one hand. The wave of negativity lessened for a second before coming back full force, and Gabriel wondered what everything was about.

He miracled the pillow and the bag containing his feathers, the project unfinished, to appear inside the locked closet in his room. It would be terribly unfortunate if you entered his living quarters for whatever reason -not that you ever did, since you had respected his private space from day one, but one could never be too prepared- and found the half filled pillow, glowing and spitting holy energy like a furious snake.

What a terrible comparison. Sheesh.

When you unlocked the door, rubbing your face tiredly, you found a weird atmosphere inside the flat. The air was light and crispy and gave you the same feverish excitement you got when you stepped on the crunchy, barely frozen snow after a stormy night in winter. It was a sensation hard to process and made your mind slow and your vision fuzzy if you focused too much on it.

It was far easier to look at Gabriel.

He stood awkwardly right by where the hall gave way to the kitchen, holding a posture tensely, like someone had shaken the building and he had grabbed at the first surface that granted some sort of stability. For a man you were used to see in every formal, military stance in the books... He was up to something, wasn’t he? He was wearing his white, holographic crocs, and his shirt had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was wide eyed, like you had caught him doing something he should had not.

How... unusual.

“Hi-?”

“I saw you on the street” Gabriel but blurted. He tried to clear his throat, correcting his pose and the wrinkles that had surfaced on the high-quality fabric of his dress shirt.

“ ... Ok?”

“I wasn’t-! I heard a car honk and I thought an accident had happened, so it was just in order to check if it was needed of me to request an ambulance to help!” He vomited. You were pretty sure no car had honked, since the street had been empty on your way to your building.

You raised a brow, obviously noticing the strange way he had composed that justification. “Mhmm. Don’t you say.”

“Yes. Yes, certainly. Would I lie to you? You know I wouldn’t.”

“Because lying is a sin?” You guessed, familiar with his way of thinking after so long living together. You didn’t share that moral compass, sceptic of both religion and faith, but it made your roommate predictable and easy to read. It had saved you so many troubles you didn’t question it anymore.

“Precisely.”

You hummed again and walked to your room when you felt a hand lightly brushing your arm. Unused to Gabriel’s attempts at physical contact, you stopped, turning to him to see what he wanted. He remained quiet, giving you a far too intense look. “G?”

“Something happened.” Gabriel finally choked out, purple eyes on yours and hand still holding your arm.

“What?” You frowned for a second and turned completely to get a full look at him. “Are you okay? What happened?”

He seemed to deflate like a popped balloon, sudden and messy. “No! No.” He repeated, more composed. He was so uncomfortable, you could tell, and it make everything feel like all the fish had decided to take a stroll out of the water to greet passers-by. “You- To you! I-” He stopped talking, not able to find his words, and you were left with a charged conversation, full of incommodity.

You knew he was trying to be nice, a good friend -or a good roommate, you still had your conflicts with that-, but why did he have to be like that. The ball was now on your roof and you had no idea what should you do with it. Conversation? What the fuck? You were so not going to tell him about Crowley and Aziraphale; it was bound to cause more damage than good, and you really didn’t want to fight anyone else today.

“I had a rough day at work” you confessed. It felt right, saying it out loud and making it real, but also incredibly wrong. Not for telling Gabriel, he was always there to listen and had proven himself a kind ear when it came to your venting. And yet, you felt inadequate, like every time you voiced your problems you were burdening someone else with them. Gosh, you had had your own arguments with Gabriel, you realised, he really didn’t need you to pour all this on him and-

Gabriel tugged on his sweater, indicating you to drop your bags, the work and the plastic one, on the kitchen table, and led you to the couch. You followed wordlessly, rubbing your eyes harshly. He frowned, made you sit and held your hands away from your face. You had pressed so hard you had marked the skin and irritated your already reddened eyes even more. You saw, felt and heard his hesitation. None of you were in your element. He composed himself again and brushed your knuckles with his fingers, so lightly you almost didn’t feel the touch. “Talk to me?”

His voice was so low, and so inviting... You caved in. You were so done resisting everything, so tired of keeping it together. His hands were warm, his sweater you had stolen so soft. “They, uhm, the... Do you remember the guys that drove me home? They came today to the restaurant. I had a fight with them, and then with my boss. It was so _bad_ , G. I couldn’t even... I had to go away, y’know? I’m sure they thought it was _pathetic_. Oh, so, so-”

Gabriel’s hand reached up and wiped your teary face with his palm. You knew you would cry, you had done it already twice today, what was once more? You felt so ashamed. Even just retelling the events was making you shake.

The Archangel fought the knot in his stomach, drowning in the waves of anxiety and sheer sadness coming from you. Such a tiny thing. Such a small, fragile human, were you not? How could something like you, who almost occupied no space in the world, be filled with so much sentiment? It was unbelievable. Gabriel shushed you, fearing -what a stupid thing, him fearing anything- his voice would betray him, and encouraged you to him. What else could he do but comfort you? He didn’t dare to say anything, not even whisper your name.

Perhaps, if he wanted it strongly enough, all the events would erase themselves and the pain would go away. Perhaps, if you kept quiet, they would cease to exist, and all that anguish would just evaporate. He wanted to cry. It was his first time experiencing it, but he recognized the need immediately. It was frustrating, maddening, like an itch you could not scratch.

Angels were made to suffer for humans, to recognize their pain, to feel it in their essence as well as the mortals did in their flesh. Gabriel didn’t have a reason to despise his empathy until now. He was assaulted with the visceral need to destroy the source of your misery and realising he _couldn’t_ almost made him wept.

You hid yourself in Gabriel; buried in his clothes, embraced and held in his arms, and you thought that would be it, that his gestures and his compassion would suffice to calm you down, but it wasn’t. The floodgates had been opened, and no matter how much you tried to serenate and stop crying, it seemed there was no end to it. You kept talking, and every word made Gabriel flinch so hard you could feel it despite your own shaking. “I had a _bloody breakdown_ because of that” you sobbed, disappointment permeating your voice and strangling your words. “I- Can you believe it? I-”

You were so done with everything. So exhausted. You told Gabriel about your fight with Crowley. With half a mind you remembered to kept names out of the story, and Gabriel was so understanding and so comforting, so fucking supporting, it only made you cry even more.

Hours came and left, and the night brought the hunger with it. You two, tired of feeling and thinking and just processing emotions altogether, were starving and, surprisingly, Gabriel was the one to propose ordering in. You didn’t argue. You felt so bad for all the afternoon drama and the things you weren’t telling him you paid for all the food.

Gabriel, still on the couch like a lifeless doll someone had dropped on accident, looked worse for wear, and you felt terrible for dumping all of that on him. He hushed you sternly, however, every time you brought it up, and you had to stop apologizing eventually. “Didn’t you bring something else with you today? Isn’t that bag new?”

You remembered then, hands full with Chinese food containers, the brittle plastic bag you had bought on your way home. You laughed, voice rough after so much crying, and rubbed your face again, giving him the food in order to pick up the mystery bag. You offered it to him. “Yeah, well. It reminded me of you and I just had to buy it, y’know? Feels kinda stupid now, after such a day...”

Gabriel abandoned the containers on the floor immediately and gave you grabby hands, purple eyes wide as saucers. You giggled, as if no one had ever given him a gift or something. No one had, indeed, but you didn’t know that. He reprimanded you again, the plastic crinkling in his hands. “Don’t say such a thing ever again.”

“Pst, who’s gonna stop me?”

“Since no one else is offering, clearly due to cowardice, it would have to be me-” and suddenly Gabriel lost his voice. He held a sticky sheet in his hands, and its surface was covered entirely with stickers. Everything you could think of was in there; seahorses, sharks, algae, starfish... So, so many tropical fish their colours could make a blind person tear up. When he passed his fingers over the drawings, they came back covered in glitter.

Gabriel thanked you in the smallest voice imaginable.

That night, when you went to sleep, you found there, above his doorknob, a beautiful and glittery clownfish stuck on the wood.

So it was stupid, it was tiny and cost you not even two pounds, but it made you happy.

It seemed Gabriel had liked it too.

You found a smiling starfish at the bottom of the key-bowl the next morning, too. 

* * *

Whatever madness overcame Crowley to act in such a way, especially after voicing how worried he was for you, Aziraphale, no matter the years and books experienced regarding events of similar conditions, could not possibly understand. Exactly that is what he told his demon, noting the frustration and fury that emanated from him even a week after the incident had passed:

“You drove her away” he said, round spectacles on and a forgotten book held in one hand. Only Crowley’s outbursts could push his mind away from his passion, and it usually wasn’t a good thing. Indifferent to that fact, Crowley kept grumbling, frown set in a deep scowl and nose scrunched like an accordion. He had sat on that couch, hidden behind a dusty globe map and angrily swatting at it to make it turn and whine whenever Aziraphale stopped paying attention to his tantrum. The noise was jarring, and while it helped annoy customers out of his shop, Aziraphale had had enough of that nonsense. Even the angel, ever patient, was starting to get tired of such an infantile behaviour. “Don’t you hiss at me; you’ll only end up spitting on my books! You are being incredibly unreasonable, dear.”

“I so do _not_ spit when I hiss!” protested Crowley, crossing his arms like a petulant child. Even his sunglasses seemed bothered with the world, glinting evilly in the grim London light. Aziraphale would have none of it. Not anymore.

“Crowley.”

“I-!” Crowley spluttered, bit his tongue, and tripped over his words once more, pointedly avoiding the icy blue glare meant only for him. Aziraphale had that look well practiced and reserved solely for when he was making a world out of a minor inconvenience and _it bothered him so much._ Why, oh, why couldn’t the angel see the trouble they were in? It wasn’t him the one that had to worry, he was a demon, evil as they come! It wasn’t his role! He was to cause mayhem, discord, resentment...! What would they say down in Hell -not that he cared- when they saw him _fussing_ over a tiny, useless-!

“ _Crowley._ ”

A heartbeat.

Two heartbeats.

Three heart-

“...Oh, a’ight! I’ll call ‘er!” He kicked his way to where he had thrown his mobile phone three days ago in a burst of ill temper -a _hissy fit_ , Aziraphale had pointed, and Crowley had positively _fumed-,_ snapped his fingers to repair the glitching screen and typed a number in. He dragged the device to his ear, and after half a minute his eyebrows formed such a deep frown they disappeared behind the darkly tinted glass that covered his eyes. With a heavy felt growl, he send the phone flying to the floor, where it exploded with an electronic scream of agony.

Not happy with that, Crowley smashed his sunglasses too, hurling them towards the phone. Then, his index firmly set in the direction of both objects and his arm trembling in badly contained rage, he set them on fire. It wasn’t enough! He repaired and burned them again. _There_.

Aziraphale witnessed the whole show silent as a white shadow, face frozen in a deadpan glare and lips pressed in a thin, tense line. Just because Crowley had been careful enough to miracle the fire to not affect anything else in the shop, but his belongings didn’t mean the angel was happy. The bookshop had had enough experiences with heat sources to last a lifetime, and he extinguished the flame and the charcoaled remains with a soft gesture of his free hand.

“I believe that means she refused to pick up your call?” Aziraphale mussed.

Crowley hissed so hard the angel was sure he had hurt his throat. When he looked at his partner, the yellow, reptile eyes were so wide they filled Crowley’s vision, and the pupil had thinned so much it was barely a slit. The snake tattooed in one of his sideburns was coiling frenetically, and some black scales had protruded around it, shining in great contrast against the smooth, human skin of his owner. “Can you believe it? She hung up on me! She- Ugh! Can you, can you-? _Ugh_!” 

“You distressed her greatly, my dear...” tried to pacify the angel, leaving his book on one shelf and making a mental note to retrieve it later. He kept his distance from the demon, knowing how he got when he started ranting.

“Don’t defend her! She’s the one mingling with an Archangel!” Crowley protested, stomping his feet and raising his hands in the air. Foolish angel, blinded by kindness and the illusion of good intentions! “With _Gabriel_ , out of all the-! In God’s na-! _Eurgh!_ ”

“Well” interrupted Aziraphale again, reaching towards the creature that was now more serpent than man, when a loud ‘ping’ jumped from Crowley’s metamorphosed jacket. A pocket opened its mouth, full of serrated teeth, and spat a new mobile phone.

**_You:_ ** _Whatever problem you have with Gabriel you can solve it with him_

**_You:_ ** _Stop calling me and fuck off_

**_You:_** _Just so you know, I’m blocking and erasing your number_

_*You can’t send any messages to this number anymore*_

“Oh, in the name of the Almighty...” lamented Aziraphale, raising his hands to cover his face, exasperated.

Crowley screamed like a banshee.

The phone was thrown out of the window, a stela of pulverized glass following, and landed with millimetric precision inside a sewer, where it beeped agonizingly and then drowned, lost forever among the murky, nasty waters. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drama? Drama.  
> We like Gabriel, and now Crowley and Aziraphale have their own plot. I did not plan that but it happened nonetheless.
> 
> Guesses on where are we going from here? I have no clue whatsoever; also, my titles are getting more and more ridiculous by the chapter. Someone help.
> 
> Suggestions? Feel free to add them! I'd love to hear what you guys think is going to happen from here on!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed your reading and thanks to everyone that left a comment in the last chapter!
> 
> See you guys in the next update!


	10. A Kitten Inside The Pen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel is tested, and he kind of hates it a whole fucking lot. This angel has anxiety, I'm telling you, and he doesn't even know.
> 
> So, if Crowley is going to be a whiny bitch instead of dealing with his problems, Aziraphale is going to have to step in. The poor angel is sick of absolutely everyone! ...But he gets to eat food, and that kind of compensates it.
> 
> You are tired, but what else is new. A day in the restaurant, a nice visitor and a shitty visitor too.  
> And then, for plot's sake, you start connecting the dots...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's already 00:09 so I'm not rushing into posting again because is Friday!
> 
> Vacation is still good but I'm leaving tomorrow -technically????- and that's good too because a) I despise the beach and b) I can go back to my regular writing and living schedules.
> 
> So how are you guys doing? 
> 
> Get ready for some plot in here! It's about time we see Gabriel's plot develop!
> 
> Enjoy and I'll see you in the End Notes!

Gabriel had witnessed some sort of rehabilitation for two weeks now. While he hadn’t been able to give you the pillow he was in the middle of crafting just yet, just talking to you daily, having you vent in a more controlled, less visceral way -which you two were grateful for, since the rawness of the last session had left an emotional soreness and exhaustion the Archangel had some troubles managing- was rewarding in ways he could have not predicted. Day by day, little by little and even in the most mundane actions, if he paid enough attention, the wave of crushing sadness that surrounded you evaporated. It was a slow process, and even after so long the angel could still see the discoloured, dusty halo that gave away your feelings.

But it was progress, nonetheless.

It was like seeing the cracked ground of the desert, dry and broken, slowly rebuild itself. He couldn’t say he was a mere observer of your recovery -for you had thanked him in both words and actions several times already- but he felt good anyway, recognizing the tender flickering in his chest as pride. Not the sinful, punishable one that appears in every and all religious books no matter the faith it was dedicated to, but a different one. It wasn’t as foreign as one would expect, and it brought memories of a newly created world, a flourishing Garden and a forbidden and untasted fruit.

...Anyways, those days were in the past, and the Archangel had much more pressing businesses to attend to. No one could say he was known for dwelling in melancholy. Priorities were priorities.

For example, the malfunctions his material body had been showing for a couple of months now. He had tried several hypotheses to narrow down the results, but it was for naught. It couldn’t be his celestial from showing through, clearly, for his light was unable to damage anything -quite the opposite, actually- no matter if there was or not intent in his violence. So it _had_ to be the body. The stutters, the nervous shacking, and most importantly, the undesired displacements of blood that rushed to his face were you to do something he had not been expecting. It wasn’t a matter of life of death, thus why he hadn’t the need to solve these issues right away; but now he had the time, a stable settlement in the middle realm, and a more or less domesticated human.

And he put himself to it, not seen why he should stall. Gabriel knew how to keep himself busy, after all.

Until this day he had measured the weekdays and weekends in accordance to your strange work shifts out of convenience, which meant that his life was neatly organized in an ever-changing pattern. You seemed to function the same uncoordinated way, unfortunately, and the angel had bought one of those flat objects, shaped like thin notebooks yet with its pages full of numbers. Always the same numbers. Gabriel, however a dedicated fan of order, had doubted the actual utility of this ‘calendars’ for the longest time. Only now, after figuring that the numbers, then words and the place they occupied in the big pages had a meaning -months, weeks...- he saw why some humans, aware of their bland minds, would create and use this invention.

Resourcefulness, Gabriel could respect. The constant fight against one’s true nature was something he was still figuring out.

Dressed as sharply as the weather would allow -he had to foregone his satin scarf and the coat, but nothing could make him shed his most beautiful turtleneck-, he wrote a note addressed to you and left it stuck in the hall, surrounded by a glittery bait of stickers to catch your attention, reminding you that he was going to be busy in the wild outside world. You had a full day of work ahead, as you had complained in the morning, and would return late in the evening, so Gabriel didn’t have to go that hard about letting you know he’d be going out for the day. He had told you the very same thing during breakfast, too, and he had your phone number and his own communicatory device fully charged. Chances are he’d return even before you did and could dispose of the note himself, probably.

He still felt somehow underprepared.

It had been quite a while since he had talked to his superior, hadn’t it? But he had dedicated himself to the mission the Metatron had entrusted him, and he had received not a single signal of displeasure from upstairs. Obviously. That was good. Clearly, his body malfunctions were unrelated to this topic. _Clearly._

So, what if he had been thinking about it being tells caused by his mistakes? It couldn’t be, of course, for he had faith his angelic companions would warn and help him find his way back again was he to stray. Yes, his encounter with Aziraphale, months ago, had seeded a tiny speck of wariness in his mind, with the Principality suspecting he had fallen and everything. But Gabriel had faith, not only in himself but in Her, and that worry had melted away immediately. In his mind there was no room for doubt.

With this mentality firmly settled, he was only going to ask about his body. He didn’t question the Almighty’s decisions. It was not his place, and he didn’t feel the need.

It was known one could address The Highest whenever and wherever, and this rule applied to both mortal and immortal creatures, it was only fair. And yet, Gabriel had thought making his first contact in so long should be something a little more special than his living room. The place was comfortable, familiar and well light, but it lacked the class he was going for.

A few months prior, during his daily strolls around the city, he had found this small church. It was intimate, with barely enough room in the main nave to fit five rows of benches. It had some religious paintings along the walls, some sacred symbols carved in the old stones and a lot of forged iron decorations crowded the columns that were used to delimitate the different spaces in the building. When you put all that together, what you got was a tiny, lamentable and dark building that was supported more with faith than pillars. It was perfect for what the Archangel had in mind.

Gabriel had investigated further and discovered that the church was only in use by a man so old and bored he only visited the place on weekdays to unlock the doors and clean the floors. He wasn’t even an ecclesiastic charge, just a random public worker. The only thing that stopped vandals from decimating the building was its irrelevancy. Which, on the other hand, was enormous.

He walked to the church by foot, rehearsing in his mind how and what he intended to communicate to She Who Is Great. No, he wasn’t nervous. _No._ Technically, the Almighty already knew what he was thinking about; and about his problems, and about his intentions, and... And he had to stop spiralling down because it was of no use. He had a plan, and he was going to follow it. Everything would turn out for the better in the end. It was written.

It was ineffable.

Dear stars, how accurate was that expression. And, oh, how much he despised it.

The doors weren’t even heavy, and Gabriel entered the church freely, and in such fashion, he locked it. Then, he miracled thick curtains to cover the few windows in the building, even the small fringe of open space under the door. He was wary of peepers; if he had all but sealed shut the apartment during his grooming time, imagine the lengths he was willing to go to protect his connection with Heaven.

He miracled or pushed away the insufficient benches and covered the altar as well. There was a cross forged in metal and decorated with golden accents, a few big candles, and a thick Bible. Behind it stood a statue of Christ hanging in the cross. The stigmas, the thin body, the expression full of pain in his face and the blood were heavily detailed. Gabriel snapped his fingers harshly and it all disappeared under a huge box. He didn’t even want to see the silhouettes of the figures.

He still had nightmares about that day. All Heaven had wept, and the Archangel could not remember a more dreadful day. He had been present during the trial, during the trip dragging the cross all across the city and even during the crucifixion. He had heard the screams. He had seen the blood. He had stayed until the boy had exhaled his last breath and the Romans checked for some sign of life in the Son of God. Oh, how his mother had cried. How had he cried. He had burned the robes he had wore that day, dirty with sorrow, and buried the ashes so deep in the ground he was sure they had rained down in Hell.

He didn’t question the Lord’s decisions. He didn’t question anything, for it was not his place. But Gabriel had loved Mary, a mere child when he had met her, and he had loved her descendant.

It had been more than two thousand years since then, and he still found the boy’s suffering sickening. He felt ill every time his eyes landed on a representation of his torture, and, sometimes, against his best efforts, he had felt a dark knot in him. Humans’ recreation in pain always made him want to retch.

There was good in the world, for Her Greatness had made it that way.

But there was so much evil, too. Violence, despair, cruelty, war-!

How...!

He took a deep breath and knelt down, ready to talk with The Superior One.

* * *

Another week of outraged cries and death threats after you hung up on Crowley had passed before Aziraphale had sent the demon home.

Well.

He had gotten the demon extremely drunk and then walked him home. They had held hands and nuzzled each other the whole way. Then, he had miracled his beloved’s car in the garage, safe and sound. It was some sort of protocol now, and the angel relished in the waves of unaltered affection the serpent exuded like a geyser.

Oh, how flirty and clingy Crowley became with a few glasses of wine in his system! Kisses, praise, hugs, he had even transformed and coiled around Aziraphale for the good part of an hour while the angel searched in the bookshop for a plastic plant.

He always hid the hideous thing while Crowley was sober, not wanting to cross him, but the drunk version of his boyfriend absolutely loved to scare the crap out of flora, and the angel had felt bad for putting a living being in that kind of situation on purpose. Thus, the plastic decoration; it was very realistic, with textured leaves and a nice, sturdy terracotta pot. Now Crowley could scream at his heart’s content against the world and no innocent creature would have to pay for it.

They had that discussion for years, Crowley arguing that no plant or bush or tree was free of sin since the one in the Garden. If all women had to suffer at God’s doing for Eve’s slip into temptation, then he was going to make sure to the top of his ability that no vegetable being rested safe as long as he was around.

Back to the topic at hand, Aziraphale had had enough of it. Of everything. Of Crowley’s yowling against you and Gabriel, of his paranoid schemes and his, pardon the language, bitching against God. The angel wasn’t the biggest fan of The Highest anymore, that much was certain, but the lines Crowley crossed were far too many and far too delicate for Aziraphale’s comfort. The demon usually respected that, but he had the biggest mouth when drunk or offended.

And, because of you and the Archangel, now he was definitely offended and Aziraphale had to suffer for it. So, blame him or something, but he was going to take the matter into his own hands and figure out once and for all what in the stars was going on.

He had waited for the sun to rise and groomed himself neatly, showering, combing his hair. He had ironed his clothes and polished his shoes. He had chosen a beautiful tartan necktie to finish his outfit. He looked crisp and ready, and yet he was nervous, somehow.

A new ritual Crowley had got him used to was to take a picture of himself - _selfies, a creation of yours truly,_ had said Crowley devilishly with a sharp smirk- and sent it to the yellow eyed demon through a texting application. App? What? Well, he was still getting used to the thin device Crowley had gotten him. The angel still had tendency to forget it among his books, but it had been a lovely detail, nonetheless. The point was Crowley had requested him to show him his outfits because, quote-unquote, he missed him dearly. Yes, he had been very drunk that day, too.

**_Crowley:_ ** _Beautiful_

**_Crowley:_ ** _Incredible_

**_Crowley:_ ** _Do u wan me 2 take u somwher??????_

**_Crowley:_ ** _Say ye_

**_Crowley:_ ** _Wait, gimme a sec. Imma sober up_

Aziraphale always had a hard time deciphering whatever gibberish Crowley decided to type. It hurt his eyes, and it wasn’t because of the light from the screen. Indecent, was the term he had used once, to the demon’s amusement. He knew Crowley took a strange pleasure in seeing him struggle over the newest slangs, but the joke was now on him, for Aziraphale had recently discovered the wonderful world of blogging! He had just marked an article about ‘emojis and their use in modern conversations’, whatever that meant, and he was going to surprise the demon so, so much!

He texted Crowley back. And Crowley answered. Then Aziraphale replied. Between this and that, his whole morning flew away. He had cooked himself breakfast during a quick dull in the conversation when Crowley had gone to take a shower and now it was midday and he was hungry again.

Well, it suited his plan, nonetheless. You had sent the demon another one of those selfies when you were still friends -Aziraphale was a firm believer of the strength of your friendship and he refused to admit it was over, much to Crowley’s anger- and he had recognized the restaurant you had been posing in front of, to his delight. Those bloggers in the internet had mentioned it in a food-related discussion and Aziraphale had wanted to go try the offered menu for a while now. Such luck that the opportunity presented itself!

Two birds, one stone, was the saying. It only fuelled the angel’s excitement. True, he was a bit nervous, and you were a friend of Crowley’s and not his, but oh! It was worth a try! Aziraphale was a firm believer in second chances, and he was also convinced that talking things out and reasonably discussing the problematic matters could do so, so much good. And, oh dear, Crowley was missing you so much! He was meant to be a sufferer, wasn’t he?

Aziraphale cared not for whatever reason had brought Gabriel down on Earth. He _did_ want to know, don’t get him wrong, but he had some other concerns, far more pressing, to attend to. Crowley was the first, most important of them. The trail of spite and bitterness he was leaving behind was notorious, and it was starting to clog the bookshop with its uncomfortable viscosity. Also, he could not have his beloved feeling that way when the solution was that _simple_ and at hand’s reach.

Stubbornness was the excuse you two were using, right?

Well, Aziraphale was _far_ more stubborn than anyone. If he had to be.

Oh, dear.

* * *

You were on your phone during the break between breakfast and lunch. It’s true you had developed some kind of aversion to the device after your burst of overconfidence when sending Crowley to roast himself in Hell; but after thinking about it long enough, it was a good decision. You had cried a lot lately, and sending a rude message cutting your friendship and blocking his number was easy enough. Life had taught you that, no matter how hard and painful things might seem, stopping a relationship that wasn’t making you happy was for the best. You had some rough nights after that, but if your problems with your mother had proven anything is that everything turned alright in the end. So, yeah, pushing Crowley out of your life had broken your heart, but you were glad you had done it.

...You had liked him a lot. You had felt remorseful and almost gone back to unblocking his number for days. You had a whole apology ready in your mind. And then you had received some good-natured smile from your roommate, who was always supporting you when you were down eating dirt and frolicking with your own insecurities, and those thoughts went silent.

And just because your emotional life was a nightmarish roller coaster it didn’t mean your work life was going to stop. You were back at it, strength renewed -well, in process of renewal, but baby steps were still awesome, and you were hecking proud of yourself- and mind set into overcoming whatever piece of crap customer decided to come and complain today.

It wasn’t that easy, for you were exhausted physically and mentally, and the breakfast shift was busy, fast-paced and far too early for any decent person to be awake, but you made through. ‘Cause you were freaking amazing, dammit! 

Curse the popularity of your restaurant; your mind was elsewhere since that morning because of Gabriel’s weirdness -he was doing stuff and he was being extra strange about it, and when you had asked he had preferred to keep it to himself, which you could respect- and the place was so active you had to actually pay attention to your job instead of daydreaming! So, a big complot to ruin you, clearly. You were very, very curious as to what would take to keep your usually chatty roommate quiet about his businesses.

Probably a company thing. He always got weird when it came to his company, and he had given you odd looks all morning. He was dressed nicely too, you had noticed. Sharper than usual. Those turtlenecks of his really did favours to his chest, that’s for sure. Damn, was he sporty. Totally unfair.

 _Sheesh_ , were you thirsty or what? Down, girl.

Point is, you had your mind wandering around when, right by the scruffy bush that adorned the left side of the restaurant’s building, popped something tiny and white. It mewled demandingly, showing you a pink mouth with some small and very sharp teeth. The little kitty was covered in something greasy and foul-smelling, and its eyes were yellow like golden coins. It was very young, too, and its steps were wobbly.

“Hey, lil’ fella’” you cooed at the animal, phone forgotten inside a pocket in your apron and kneeling in front of it. You had always been weak for animals. You quickly inspected the creature, scrunching your nose at the terrible smell that came from it. “Oh, a boy. Alright.”

It mewled rudely at you again, probably frowning at your cheekiness. Gosh, he was disgusting; every step he took, he left the small mark of his paw in guck on the ground. It was cute, ok, but kind of nasty in many, _many_ ways. He attempted to swat at you and fell on his side.

“Mew!” He screamed again, struggling to get back of his feet and wiggling his tail like a whip. You didn’t know kitties could glare this hard.

“You fell on you own, bud. Don’t go around blaming me.”

“ _Mew_!” He chirped.

“Well, a’ight.” You poked him in the head, and he got your finger with his tiny feet. Yes, you should not be touching a stray anything with your bare hands, you were a waitress that worked handling food and all that, but he was a little spitfire and you were irremediably charmed. Who’s gonna blame you? You had alcohol in the back, inside the medicine kit, and you could always clean your hands with gin before the lunch shift, did it come to that. God knew Gabriel had already ingrained a cleaning protocol before meals in your brain. “Gimme’ a sec and I’ll bring you something to eat, you must be starving.”

And off you went to scavenge some ham from the kitchen. You were cheering inside, let’s be honest. You had wanted a cat for the longest time now; your family had the most rigid no-pet policy and you had spent years begging for a dog or a cat in your childhood, always getting the rudest of negatives. But now. Now you were an adult, sort of, and hella’ independent. And you were financially stable too, thanks to your roommate! Him being in your life has given you so much freedom when it comes down to money. It was destiny. You just had to convince Gabriel to share the common areas with the dodgy ball of puff. It was going to be a difficult task, you knew, and he would surely whine about the fur getting everywhere, but you _knew_ the angry businessman had the softest of hearts. That, and the fact that you knew exactly how to bend his will; you had him wrapped around your little finger: if you had convinced him you two needed a secret knocking code for when entering the flat in the early days, you could make him buy anything.

Oh, you were so excited!

But the tiny guy needed a nice visit to the vet as soon as possible. And food. And toys! Aw, and a little bed too! A litter box! Damn, you had to write all that down before you forgot…

What was a good name for a cat, anyways? He _did_ behave like a snotty brat... But you so didn’t want to cuddle something named Brat. He had astounding eyes, and maybe you could work something out with that and your mother language; Gabriel loved languages and maybe a name like that would soften-

...

What.

Come on!

Where had it gone? You looked around, knelt by the bush and fiddled with the branches, searching for the little devil. You crossed the street too, and inspected under the cars, but to no avail. Man. Well, that was a way to bum you for sure. 

Disappointed that you hadn’t even been able to take a picture of the nasty visitor, you proceeded to cry your sorrows to your friends, clogging the group chat until your next shift. Patricia cried with you, but Mark and Laura, both awoken by your insufferable texting, weren’t as sympathetic. Understandable. They didn’t have to spam the group chat with rude memes, though.

The restaurant was crowded for lunch, and you were in the kitchen picking up some steaming plates for table eleven when you felt it. That strange tickling in your stomach and the goosebumps raising. The very same had happened to you right when meeting Gabriel for the first time, and when he appeared suddenly around a corner while you were not expecting him. Job forgotten for a second, you went to investigate to the main room, ignoring the kind words the cook was addressing you by. Your fingertips felt fuzzy, and a sweet but discreet taste flooded your mouth; there, on that table by the corner, you identified the white, halo-like hair that crowned Aziraphale’s head.

The man was seated facing the window, but it seemed he was looking for something. For someone, more specifically. You clicked your tongue but went back to work, delivering the food to table eleven before sauntering towards Crowley’s boyfriend.

He seemed nervous yet delighted to see you. “Oh, hello! I was hoping I could find you here, my dear.”

You gave him a menu and he accepted it gladly but put it aside. “I’m at work, you know? And I think I already made myself clear when I told Anthony I wanted out of whatever you two were planning.”

“You did, you did! I do know the terms in which we parted ways were, well, quite tense, and please forgive my forwardness but I really need to talk to you, if you could please spare a moment.” He insisted, giving you the most charming smile, you had ever been subjected to. You felt your resolve crumble: he was far too adorable and soft-spoken, and so very polite. He could have phrased that skipping half of the words he had used, too, and his accent was like bells chiming.

You looked him over, and he surrendered to your inspection with a hopeful look. ...You already knew your answer, but enjoyed seen him twitch under your gaze, nonetheless. He was probably going to tell Crowley about his success contacting you, and if you could not make him sweat for it then where was your compensation. You liked your lips and pointed to the menu on the table with the pen you had extracted from your pocket to redirect his attention. “As I had said, I’m _at work-_ ”

“Yes, and I’m very sorry-”

“-so you will have to wait until my shift is over.” He closed his mouth shut and gave you a bright smile full of white, perfect teeth. Focus, girl, get it together. “The rush will take two to three hours, if you’re willing to wait.”

Aziraphale nodded frantically, fiddling with the menu and wiggling happily. It was _disarming_ and you had to choke down a smile and a giggle with all your might _._ He was glowing from within, and you noticed the impeccable state of his clothes. He really had come prepared and ready to charm, huh? “Of course! Thank you so very much, this really means a lot to me.”

You left back to the kitchen to keep working after nudging the menu back at him and promising to return in a few minutes to take his order. During the short-lived friendship with Crowley you had realised the man was a slut for taking selfies, and Aziraphale was always either in the back or being targeted with a prank his boyfriend had pulled. They had, directly and indirectly, introduced you in their lives, and Crowley -a caller, for your chagrin, not a texter- had made sure to keep in touch with you every second you had available between work and your private life. And now you had his angelic partner, whom you had just met before cutting all connection, sitting there looking like an absolute ray of sunshine. Something told you Crowley wasn’t entirely aware of this little excursion of his.

You considered calling Gabriel, just in case, but ultimately decided against it.

While Aziraphale could be the bad guy in the story despite being the physical embodiment of a quokka, something told you that’s not what everything was about. Yet, if Gabriel was so adamantly against him, why shouldn’t you be concerned? The man had a very solid background in your favour, after all, and it was always best to listen to him in matters that should not concern you. And today was the worst day as well, since your roommate was being so skittish with his company. The last thing you wanted was to bother him while he was doing something important.

Aziraphale behaved like a model customer for the rest of your shift and left a more than generous tip at the end under the excuse that ‘everything you had given him was so scrumptious that he could not help himself’. You had made your mind up about him and were resolute in your resolve to stay strong against his charm and the utterly delighted sounds he had made while eating. You were going to keep the money, of course, for the troubles and to face whatever the future could bring. Perhaps a cat. A cat that needed the best of foods and toys and tiny beds.

By the time the restaurant emptied and you gave a heads up to your boss that you were going to spend your break with someone in the serving area -he had warned you to change your clothes because it was _distasteful_ to see the service sitting with clients-, the blonde man was enjoying a cup of tea and some biscuits another enamoured waiter had gotten him from the back. You heavily suspected the biscuits were actually his, but said nothing.

“Oh, how rude of me!” Aziraphale cried. You sat in front of him, arching an eyebrow and placing the plate with leftovers a cook had pushed apart for you on the table along with the cutlery. He eyed your meal with regret and apologized with a heartfelt pout. “Had I known you did not even have time to eat until now, my dear, I would have waited. And here I am, intruding in your break so...”

“It’s fine” you dismissed with a wave of your hand. He urged you to eat, embarrassingly pushing his tea and snacks aside. “So, what’s this about? Whatcha’ want that you had to come and corner me here in my workplace?”

He looked rightfully scolded. “I wanted to apologize for Crowley’s behaviour. There has been a huge stone in our path for the last year after the...” he then stopped, like he had caught himself before saying something he should have not. He twiddled with the ring on his pinkie finger before continuing with a totally different topic. Huh, very subtle. “Did Crowley ever tell you how we ended up together?”

You swallowed a bite and took a sip from your glass.“ Not really. He said it was a long time coming, but never explained further.” You thought for a second, watching the man on the opposite chair debate with himself. Something clicked in your mind. “Wait. Does this really have anything to do with that company of yours and the thing you did that caused so much trouble?”

Aziraphale flinched like you had just speared him. He turned his face to you, blue eyes so wide in surprise it was obvious he had not expected you to know that. “Did _Gabriel_ tell you about that? Oh, Lord, that’s so...! It-”

“He did mention it, but I don’t want the details” you quickly cut him. “I just know that it was a huge thing his company had planed for, basically, centuries, before you and Anthony went and blew it up.”

“It had to be done!” the man protested, his voice filled with the exasperation of someone who has been fighting the same topic against irrational people for the longest time despite being right.

“Yeah, right. Whatever it was, I still want no part in it so spare me the lore.”

Aziraphale gave you, for a split-second, a fed-up glare and the snottiest slow blink you had been subjected to till this date. Had you not been there to suffer it, you would have not believed he was capable of so much unaltered sass. It left you speechless. He quickly returned to his polite demeanour, however. “I can respect that.”

“... so, that’s it? You came in here to apologize in Anthony’s name?”

“Not exactly, if I must be honest. I was hoping you would listen to my reasons as to why he reacted in such a way. I speak for myself when I say that seeing you in with the Ar- in Gabriel’s clothing” he quickly corrected himself “was as surprising for me as it was for him.”

“The Ar... what. What’s so important about his clothes, god dammit” Aziraphale flinched again, hissing and sighing.

“It is... huh, the embroidery, actually. It’s a very recognizable, very _exclusive_ symbol. Only certain, ehrm, people are allowed to wear it.”

You frowned, scrunching your nose. “Ew, Aziraphale. It sounds like a cult!”

“It’s not-!” He seemed deeply offended by this, you noticed, as he kept playing with his ring. Just like the sweater you had stolen, it was decorated with wings. Oh, was it a mafia? The thought crossed your mind for a second, justifying the money and the expensive as fuck clothes your roommate had as well as why Crowley and Aziraphale were so wary of him, but it left as quickly. Gabriel was unable to harm a fly, and that you knew based on his character and on real life experience. You had been on bug duty since he had moved in. “ _It is not a cult._ ”

“I still don’t want to know” you repeated for third time. You had finished your meal while Aziraphale spluttered, and now were nursing your glass of water. It was almost empty too, and you rose up and went to refill it in the kitchen. When you came back to the table, the blonde had calmed down and lost the offended flush that had reddened his face, but he still had his lips pursed in disagreement. You sat and watched him sip the tea in his cup, wondering how on Earth was it still steaming. “Listen. I knew something was up since day one with the three of you, there in your bookshop, and I tried my hardest not to mix my friendship with Anthony with whatever problem you all have. It didn’t work out, it’s cool. Friends come and go. Friendships drown. What I will not stand for is Anthony straight up antagonising me for whatever crap he thinks I’ve done. I’m sick of people assuming I own them anything, and if he was ready to accuse me of, I don’t know, scheming to do him dirty, that’s on him and his paranoia” you frowned. You head started to ache, and your lips were dry, so you licked them. “That’s not what friends do, man.”

“... It is not, you are right.” Aziraphale admitted, visibly uncomfortable. “But I beg you to understand. I know, for you had said it already several times, that you don’t desire to be involved in the issues that surround us, but just by being friends with Crowley and with, eh, your relationship with Gabriel, whatever it might be, you are part of it all. You can’t just run away, I’m afraid. You have to face this-”

“I don’t have to do anything” you blurted, and then, like a mantra you had repeated out loud so many times it was ingrained in you head, you said: “I am not responsible of other’s feelings. If Anthony wants me back, then he’s the one that has to come here and apologize. Those are my terms and I think you should _respect_ them.”

Aziraphale knew a lost battle when he saw one, but the hurt in your eyes told him there was still something worth fighting for in your friendship with his beloved. He extracted a tiny notebook from his coat -what was with these people and their fixation with wearing trench coats in summer? Was it a company thing, too? It was like they had been brainwashed, gosh-, scribbled something and tore the page, passing it to you.

“Unfortunately, my skills when it comes down to mobile phones are nothing but laughable; however, this is the bookshop’s number. Very few people have it. The shop is not always open, as you probably know already, but I answer to the phone every time, no matter the hour. Please, do call me if you wish to discuss this issue further.”

You looked at the written number and were tempted to tear it in his face just to make your point clear but ended up folding the page and placing it in your pocket. “Yeah, why not. What could go wrong?”

Aziraphale bid his goodbyes and thanked you profusely for the meal one last time before exiting the restaurant. You watched him disappear in the crowd, elegant as a white swan among pigeons.

You returned to work, mind a complete mess. What was with both Aziraphale and Gabriel that always made you head feel fuzzy? You had been wondering about that the whole exchange. There was something so _good_ in them, was it not? It made you happy, somehow, and filled your chest with warm and a strong feeling of safety. They radiated that sensation like a bonfire, as if they sparkled from the inside... And then it was like your mind had just sneezed, pushing that thought aside and providing another topic for you to focus on.

...What were you thinking about again?

Oh, that sneaky cat! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So???????????
> 
> I don't even know what to write down here. What do you guys think about giving Aziraphale this much protagonism?? It was fun, but I feel like I wrote 'oh, dear' at least a dozen times.
> 
> What do you think is going to happen with Gabriel? He's talking with God, after all. Drama? No drama? Will she answer at all or maybe just leave him there wasting his knees inside that nasty church. What if She does answer but it is a post-it with a middle finger drawn on it? 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who left a comment in the last chapter and specially to Baddest_Female! I will try to get that carnival chapter written and I already have some ideas ;)
> 
> See you guys in the next update!


	11. Fluffy Chicken, Happy Chicken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE PLOT THICKENS
> 
> Who am I kidding, this chapter is just drama and fluff. Gabriel deserves a break and so do we and that's exactly what we're getting, goddammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes, I'm updating far too soon, I KNOW. But I wanted TO because this chapter is like a break. We all deserve one. Enjoy what's coming and fangirl with me, pls.)
> 
> As the sumary says: PLOT
> 
> What it doesn't say: You might find Gabriel a bit OoC here but dear boy deserved some PoV that doesn't involve utter confusion and I'm the author, so I'm giving him that. I'm within my rights as sufferer, thank you.
> 
> (NOTE: The plot is not actually that relevant)
> 
> (NOTE 2: BEHOLD. THE. F L U F F )
> 
> (NOTE 3: SUBJECT YOURSELF TO THE DRAMA. FEEL THE DRAMA, FOR ITS SHORT-LIVED!)

You had to stand Robbie’s and the other waiters’ teasing about Aziraphale for the rest of the shift. Was that mysterious man the roommate you have been trying to hide from them? Elegant, charming and with a great appetite too, and all that had piqued their interest. Was he well behaved?? Did he have the manners of a gentleman? Did he satisfy you enough? Was he talented under the sheets? You had to cut them shut when they started with the lewd suggestions -very graphic, to your chagrin- because you did _not_ want to picture Aziraphale in such a way. It was highly inadequate; he was Crowley’s boyfriend -of all people- and now you couldn’t erase the blonde man from your mind.

Oh, you were going to Hell for that.

You really tried to distract yourself from that topic and put a lot of effort in the evening shift. You gave so much even your boss, that ridiculous excuse of a balding rat, rewarded you with a pat on the back and a nasty snide about how you ‘could work like that every day’. The other waiters either cheered of mocked him behind his back -the cooks definitely did joke at his expenses; your manager had the worst reputation in the kitchen- and that made you feel better.

Doing your best to ignore him, you picked your things and took the bus home, busying yourself with a list of what a good cat owner should posses and know before adopting a clawing ball of trouble. You cringed a little looking at the prices of dry and wet food on your phone, but swallowed your despair just imagining a kitty chewing Gabriel’s socks. Wasn’t that a dog thing? Well, whatever; one way or another, your roommate’s turtlenecks were going to be covered in fur, even if you had to do it yourself.

It was dark, but not very hot -for once-, and you took your sweet time returning home. As it wasn’t too late, you decided to make a stop by your landlady’s apartment, on the ground floor, to check if owning pets was actually allowed in the building. Imagine you went all the distance just to discover you had to find a new place to live because of some stupid rules against animals. You wanted a cat _badly_ , but also enjoyed having a roof over your head, and you knew which one you would have to choose if the answer turned out to be a negative.

“Oh, no! It is allowed!” the old woman said, smiling like crazy. She was a bit overbearing, the total opposite of her husband, and had invited you inside twice already. When you tried to refuse, excusing yourself with the tiredness from work, she had grabbed your arm and dragged you inside regardless of your protests. She was crazy strong for an octogenarian; you’d give her that. Determined, too. “Are you and that fine man getting a new little friend?”

Oh, yeah.

You had forgotten about her obsession with Gabriel and why your roommate avoided her like the plague. Poor guy, he was traumatised. He always faked not being home when she came to check on him at random times after she had cornered him picking your mail when he had just moved in. You had arrived home that same night and found them still at the letterboxes, the old lady trying very hard to convince him to accompany her and her husband for dinner. The look on Gabriel’s face, very done being nice yet not daring to cross the woman, had been a poem.

“Ahm, yes? I haven’t talked him about it yet-” you realised your mistake the moment you opened your mouth. Now the woman had ammunition and an excuse to go and bother poor Gabriel. Bloody-! How you hated talking to people! Now owning your roommate a deep apology, you decided the best course of action was to escape from that woman. You had given her enough information about your life already.

“He will agree, I tell you” she patted you hand motherly and reached for your arm again, digging her colourful nail in your flesh despite the harsh material of your shirt being in the way. Had the walls in her living room not been covered in sunflowers, you would have thought of this situation a nightmare. Perhaps it was and you were already doomed. The curtains had dusty pompoms and furry tassels, and the cushions were the ones gifted after graduating granny university, with flowery and tasteless patterns. Hitchcock could use her living room for inspiration, had the man been alive. “Men tend to do everything they are told to keep their mistress happy.”

You didn’t know which part of that sentence you should correct first, but you were screaming inside. In the end, you decided to find a quick escape and hope for the best. Gabriel was a grown-up man and he could defend himself against this wrinkled menace. On his fucking own. You tugged your arm back, and she fought you for it. “I don’t know. Gabriel is not like most men.”

She gave you a saucy wink. “I bet he is not.”

...You had to get out _now._

Blushing like crazy -and, why were you blushing, again?- you stood, gathered your things and forced her to see you to the door, since she insisted that is what you should do whenever a guest visited. You were sick of her insisting on teaching you ‘proper manners’ just because she was convinced everyone outside England was a caveman in disguise; but, right now, you were so uncomfortable you didn’t bother to correct her and her insulting ideas. You so didn’t want her suggestions right now!

What a day, between Aziraphale and Gabriel! Sheesh! Why couldn’t the universe leave you alone.

You rushed your way up to the fifth floor, half-tripping with your own shoes and panting like a wild animal, fearing the wild goat would catch you on her flying broom or something. You found your keys, juggled with your bag and your dumb embarrassment and entered the apartment.

...You locked it with three turns, as many as the door would allow, just to be sure you were safe.

“I’m home!” you left the stuff in the kitchen, getting rid of your shoes and throwing _another_ tattered sock to the trash. You were lucky all of your work socks were black, because you were destroying pairs like you were paid for it. Technically, you were destroying them while being paid, so... Urgh, you shouldn’t really try to make jokes being this tired, they sucked a whole deal. “Yo, G, you won’t _believe_ your ears when I tell you! The landlady...”

And you closed your mouth, now aware of the strange, silent atmosphere that clogged the apartment. From your position at the entrance you could see the back of Gabriel’s head, hanging low, and his light violet turtleneck. It seemed he was so lost in thought he hadn’t heard you come in, which was a feat on itself, because the hinges in the front door creaked like they were haunted. There, on the kitchen wall, glittered a post-it reminding you he had some businesses to take care of in his company today.

You approached the man carefully, watching his expression, before sitting with him on the couch. He was looking at his hands, rubbing them from time to time and lightly frowning, appearing unsure at what he was seeing. “Hey, Gaby? Everything alright?”

That seemed to wake him up.

Gabriel had gotten used to your nicknames by force; that is, you had subjected him to so many rude alterations of his name that now everything that started with a ‘G’ or a ‘Mister’ was probably you attempting to address him. He had found it quite irritating at the beginning, and even more after you confessed you were doing it just because he was calling you ‘tiny mortal’ every half an hour. Then, he had no option but to surrender, for he wasn’t going to stop, and it seemed neither were you.

Many humans, he had discovered, were named after him –‘an Archangel’s name will bring fortune to my child!’ as the general excuse- and the ‘Gabe’ nickname you had started using with him turned out to be really common among regular people. Understandable, to some extent. ‘Gabo’ had come thanks to another of those excuses, from your own country this time, and your friends had been guilty for it. ‘G’ and the rest of the abominations came when you were being playful or mocking him. Gabriel excused himself saying that he only allowed such disrespect because you were being good-natured; the truth is if any other creature dared to address him in any other way that was not his own, God-given name, he would show them the extents an angel’s wrath reached.

‘Gaby’, however... it was kind of special. Even Gabriel could admit it. While it sounded fairly mundane, like you were not even making a substantial effort to vandalize his reputation, you said it in such an endearing way. Always with a soft voice. He had come to recognize the ‘Gaby’ moments whenever you were being particularly adorable, trying to convince him about something or recognized whichever situation as emotionally delicate.

Yes, unable to understand whatever nicknames were for, he had narrowed their use down. He was very dedicated to his mission about understanding humanity, after all, and you _were_ human, even if a weird one.

And, following that notion, he blinked the stupor he was in away and looked at you. His back hurt and he realised he was hunched, so he took his time to stretch before answering; every time a bone popped you gave him a patient and sympathetic smile.

“What time is it?” he rasped.

You took a moment to check your phone. “Nine.”

“ _Nine?_ ” And he grunted, still rubbing his hands abstinently. “Hmm.”

“... is everything okay with your company? Is that what’s worrying you?”

Gabriel’s day had been certainly strange. He went out of his way to contact God, and, while She _had_ answered his call, he felt like none of his questions had been actually addressed. Like the other Archangels, Gabriel had some privileges when it came to communicating with the Almighty, and usually got their pleas answered one way or another. For him, God always made rain glowing petals of gold. It was a beautiful blessing, and a sight that could make anyone lose their breath. That happened in the small church too, when he had showed his concerns about his body and all the external reactions it was showing against his will.

The petals came this time too, to Gabriel’s relief, and he brushed them with his fingertips. God never spoke with words, only with feelings and sensations, yet She was usually very clear in her intentions. Her wishes overcame the vessel’s of Her choice like a wave, devastating whatever obstacle it could find in its way without care. God was, after all, implacable.

This time, however, Gabriel thought he had not received the full message She intended to give despite the strength behind the emotions. Or, maybe, he hadn’t been eloquent enough?

“ _All is natural._ ”

That was it, that was the whole message he was getting no matter how he worded his problem. Gabriel rubbed his hands, which he held up in a plea, together, and insisted. “The body malfunctions. The blood and-”

“ _All is natural._ ”

“Almighty, I’m afraid I don’t understand...” he had implored, still on his knees, as the light surrounded him. Politeness wasn’t really necessary when talking with God, that much everyone knew, for She could not be offended by something as simple as language, but Gabriel thought it was wrong to address her in any other way. “These things happen in such concrete situations, there must be something causing them.”

“ _Love._ ”

“Love” droned Gabriel, utterly confused.

“ _Love_.”

“Love” he repeated again. He felt really stupid at this point. “With all due respect, Almighty, I really don’t understand. What love? Where-?”

“ _Love is natural._ ”

“...Yes. Yes, it is.” He had to agree with that argument but wished his creator would be a bit more specific. The pang that indicated ‘love’, that warmed his chest with care was, however, very easy to understand. The message was _there_ , right in front of his nose, yet Gabriel had no clue regarding what it was about. It was very frustrating, and he started feeling inadequate for bothering Her so much with something She had explained him five times already. “My malfunctions... Caused by love, that’s what you say.”

“ _Natural._ ”

“Not malfunctions?” Gabriel nodded to himself, still very much not getting it.

“ _Natural. Love is natural._ ”

So, his reactions were meant to happen, is what She was saying. Either because She wanted it that way or because She allowed them to happen. It wasn’t his body acting up, just an external show of the love he felt. That much was clear, alright. But, why now? Gabriel had always felt love, since the very moment he was created, and the tells he was having now were nothing but particular.

“Thank you, Almighty.” God wasn’t going to give him a detailed answer, it seemed. Apparently, She had already said everything She desired, too, and left before the Archangel could ask about the status of his mission.

Gabriel miracled the small church the same way he had found it and returned home. He would have to think about Her words meticulously. The rest of the morning he entertained himself finishing the pillow with angelic feathers he had crafted for you, but he was so deep in thought his pride in the object was forgotten in a dusty corner of his mind; when he was finished, he hid the article again and sat on the couch to meditate about the given message, but he couldn’t get any clarity on it.

Was it too simple?

Too complicated?

What was he not getting?

“...Gaby?”

You were home, asking questions and worrying about him, were you not? So concerned with his feelings. His hand was so big between yours. When had you taken it? The skin of your palms was rough. Rougher than his, at least, all because of your work. Suddenly, you flicked his knuckles to catch his attention, and when he raised his head, he found your eyes.

“You’d tell me who’s ass I’d have to kick if someone bothered you at that company thing, wouldn’t you?”

Gabriel huffed a laugh, shaking his head and forcing himself to focus on what was going on in the present. The answer would come to him, he was sure of it. “You couldn’t kick a Chihuahua’s arse, tiny mortal.”

You hit him playfully with your shoulder, happy that he was at least responsive. “Try me. I’ll have you chewing the dust in seconds, big guy.”

“Biting. _Biting_ the dust. It’s even written in those books of yours.”

“Nah, man. I’m going to make sure you enjoy your defeat. You’re definitely going to chew it.”

Gabriel pinched you side and you squeaked, laughing. You tried to run away, but his arms were long, and he threw you back on the couch, tickling you with the most serious expression someone having fun could ever make. “You were saying?”

“Cheater! Cheater!” you cried, kicking in the air and wrestling his stupidly big body. “Not fair!”

“No one defeats me, you goblin. I always win.”

You did something he wasn’t expecting, to his surprise. You had the tendency to do that, however, and he should have been used to it. That’s the problem with surprises, they are unpredictable. Instead of defending yourself like any sane person would have, you steadied your body surrounding his thigh with your legs in a clamp and reached for him. Gabriel shivered when your fingers brushed his side, exploring, and the sensation was unfamiliar yet harmless, so he let it be.

He was still deciphering shivers, as he had consulted God, but they didn’t signify pain or danger, just a strange clutch in his chest, and he was having too much fun seeing you attempt to overcome an Archangel and his strength to pay attention to them. Then, you pinched, and Gabriel jumped, taken aback. What-!

“ _Aha!_ ” You took advantage of his jolt and tickled him again, and Gabriel made a strangled noise, pushing to get off you and your limited range of action. “No, sir, no running away! I knew you’d be ticklish too! _Gotcha._ ”

Gabriel had no fucking clue about what was happening, but you were laughing like a madwoman, he had his back against the couch’s cushions and his body was twitching like crazy. Was he under attack? Was-? He tensed his jaw, trying his hardest not to laugh, but it was to no vail. How could you know his body to provoke these sensations? How-? He laughed again, still confused, and wiggling like a snake to shake you off, but you were a determined little shit.

“Admit defeat!”

He said nothing, burying his face in the fabric of the backrest and sticking his arms to his sides to block your advances. His face hurt, but it wasn’t really a bad thing. How undignifying, an Archangel struggling to breath under the smallest of humans. What were you doing to him.

He was about to grab you and throw you away when you collapsed under a cough attack, chocking with your own laugh and fighting to gain some air. He could feel you chin digging in his ribcage, and your legs and arms were still around him, but you were done assaulting him.

You blew your hair out of your eyes and your cheeks were red with blood. Gabriel knew he was flushed too; he could feel the heat in his face. You still snorted from time to time, shaking with the leftovers of what you considered the biggest victory in the century.

“That” he breathed “was a _cheap_ trick.”

“Oh, how hypocritical of you. You started it.”

Gabriel was tempted to start it all over again to show you who had the upper hand here, his hands hovering around your sides, but his body was still twitching and that was distracting enough. He gave it a rest, felt the fabric of the ugly couch for support and closed his eyes.

An idea came and smacked him in the face, and he blinked with realisation.

How many talks had you shared with him on that couch? All of them, either here or in the kitchen. Good and bad. You had cried, and laughed, and screamed in fear and in delight at movies and videos. The point is, you shared. That was a human thing, they were pack animals, they _communicated._ You were the perfect example for it.

Perhaps, if he shared his concerns with you, God’s meaning would come to him. You did have a unique way of thinking. You were as natural as nature itself, you felt love, and, if Her words were right -they were- his reactions were caused by all those things. It was _incredibly easy._

“... you asked about the company.”

Your eyes, closed as his had been, snapped open. A guilty feeling emanated from you, and Gabriel raised an eyebrow, puzzled. “Uh, not really. I told Aziraphale I didn’t want to know about it. How on Earth did you know? Are you spying on me or something?”

“What?” Gabriel incorporated his torso using his elbows and frowned. You had a strange look on. He could still perceive guilt, but there was annoyance in there as well. “You have spoken with Aziraphale?”

“He came to me just today, during my shift.” You were frowning too, a bothered expression on your face. Then, you repeated: “How did you know?”

“I was talking about when you entered the flat. You _asked_ about my company.” Gabriel watched your gesture change, rolled your eyes and waved at him with one hand. The annoyance was gone, but the guilt persisted; you had a surprisingly docile expression on, and it didn’t seem you wanted to fight with him, whether verbally or physically. It soothed the Archangel, but only slightly.

“Alright, alright.” You admitted, not happy with the situation. You _had_ been planning on telling Gabriel about today’s events, honestly, but he had been in such a poor mood... “Remember that huge fight I had with a friend weeks ago? I was talking about Crowley; he confronted me about something to do with your company, spoke about a deal you guys had made. He thought you weren’t keeping it and accused me of collaborating. It was nasty.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“What?”

“ _Did he hurt you?_ ”

You looked at Gabriel, feeling how tense his body was under yours. His eyes were made of steel and you had never seen him so serious before. It was kind of scary. “No, no. He did shake me a bit but Aziraphale was there, too. He helped me out.”

“Crowley is _evil._ ” Gabriel said, shaking his head and looking both extremely stubborn and distressed. “You shouldn’t had gotten close to him. He can do terrible things. Aziraphale... he’s alright, he wouldn’t hurt a fly, but Crowley...”

You patted his chest, regaining his attention. “It’s not like we’re on talking terms anymore. I told him to leave me alone. That’s why Aziraphale came by today, to try and explain I don’t know what about the company and why me having your sweaters was such a huge thing. He tried to convince me it’s not a cult.”

“ _It is not a cult_ ” was Gabriel’s quick answer.

You laughed and attempted to hide it in the crook of your arm, sure that he’d get offended. Indeed, when you emerged again Gabriel still had that stern face of his, but his nose was scrunched in displeasure. You giggled again, to his confusion and anger. You really shouldn’t be adding more gasoline to the fire, but he was kind of pouting and it was hilarious. “Sorry, that’s just what Aziraphale said, word by word.”

“Well? It’s not.”

“Ok, I’m not saying anything against it. Remember I don’t know shit about what your company does. It _could_ be a cult.”

“It’s _not._ ”

“Gotcha, I’ll stop saying it, alright.”

“... Aziraphale tried to contact you, then?” He insisted.

Now it was the time to tiptoe. You remembered how angry he got when you started asking things about his business, and he, how upset he made you when he’d refuse to answer. Both of you could have handled that situation better, back then. Demanding things from each other had turned out to be the wrong strategy and it was good that now you were communicating. The problem is, neither of you knew where the stop sign was.

“Yup. Told him I had nothing to do with your business and that I wanted no part in whatever he wanted to tell me.”

“You refused to know?” Gabriel searched in your eyes and the emotions coming from you, but either that demon had taught you how to fool an angel’s sense or you were telling the truth. The Archangel knew how much you had wanted to learn about his so called ‘company’ and he couldn’t have you figuring things about Heaven. No human should have that kind of access to divinity. If you were lying, he would have to act and-

“Well, _you_ told me it was confidential, right?” You shrugged, playing with the fabric of his turtleneck. By God if that wasn’t high-quality material. You could make so many boyfriend jokes Gabriel could not catch it was ridiculous. Don’t get it wrong, you _knew_ Gabriel was heavily agitated about what you were telling him, but there was no point in pretending. You had refused Aziraphale’s offer and taken you roommate’s side, you had nothing to hide by this point.

“...Yes.”

“And,” you continued “even if he spilled the tea, you did say he had betrayed your company’s policy before, so he could have used me to, I don’t know, set a trap for you or something. He doesn’t look like he would, I’d say, but appearances are defective.”

You saw Gabriel blink, perplexity in his face, and you wondered what in Hell had you said now to break him. His eyes were full of wonder, and wide as a rabbit’s in the middle of a road, blind because of a car’s headlights. “You are taking my side.”

“Uh, yes? I mean, it’s not like I want to go against Aziraphale or anything -Crowley here is another matter, I’m really upset with him still- but...” you spluttered, suddenly very uneasy with the bewildered way Gabriel was looking at you. “It was, I mean... the choice was easy, you know? Like, it was him or you and-”

“Thank you.”

“Uh...” you nodded, completely lost now. “You’re welcome?”

It was strange, wasn’t it? Gabriel had talked to God that morning, and he had exited the church with even more questions than before he had entered. Then, it turns out you had been seeing Aziraphale and that disgusting demon of his behind his back. He should be furious. He should be, I don’t know, burning you alive with just a look or condemning your soul to torture for all eternity. Something nasty, something that could act as a warning to other pitiful humans before they went out of their way to defy God and Her Archangels, her soldiers... But he wasn’t.

He was giddy.

Gabriel hadn’t felt so at ease since the Armagedidn’t. He had thought, silly him, that God was displeased with him and his actions; that it wasn’t only the Traitors’ wits, but also God’s influence, why neither Hell nor Heaven had been able to punish Aziraphale and Crowley. Perhaps the couple had something that not even angels had, that they had surpassed their kind and evolved, thanks to the Almighty, beyond the others’ possibilities. That they were now _untouchable_.

But, if they weren’t able to fool you, if you had chosen him over them despise their tricks...!

You blinked in surprise; you face squished between Gabriel’s massive hands. He was giggling like an idiot, eyes almost closed in his joy, and smiling widely. You felt his body shake under your own, suddenly very aware of your position. His face, his very handsome face, was incredibly close. You blushed, disarmed because of his happy expression and, well, the rest. The stupid landlady’s comment returned to your mind, worsening your situation.

“Bless you, goblin” he cheered, his shoulders quivering with laughter.

“You know? There are better ways to thank me than calling me a goblin.”

You had lost him somewhere, between two thoughts of his himbo mind, you knew. You were going to complain that you didn’t see where the joke was, that you _wanted_ to know. And he was hugging you, huffing through his nose, his legs engulfing you.

“I thought!” He sniggered. “I thought, when coming to this place, that I’d just complete my mission and leave, finding no other joy than completing my chores for the Greater Good! But you! You! You are proving me so wrong every second I breathe, you beautiful thing!”

“Ngk” you answered, reddening like the world was going to end. It wasn’t even funny anymore; the fucker, you were positive, was trying to kill you of embarrassment. “G, let go! G! No, no tickling fight, that’s over! You douche, this is not fair!”

It was clear, Gabriel knew. Now, he saw it. The love God was talking about wasn’t about him, or about the word itself. It wasn’t about Aziraphale and Crowley and that strange bond they shared. It was about you.

 _That_ was what he was feeling!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Gabriel? Good? GOOD? (I excuse myself under the following argument: we never got a happy Gabriel in the show, thus, THIS could be perfectly canon. Just imagine him. Fucking. HAPPY FOR ONCE. Good Afternoon.)
> 
> Listen, Reader is freaking out right now. Things are weird, but he will come back as normal as he was. He's just having a God-induced high, leave him alone.
> 
> If you have any suggestions, feel free to add them in the comments section!
> 
> See you guys in the next update!


	12. Smug Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You hate your friends. You hate Gabriel, too.
> 
> Gabriel is having the time of his life.
> 
> Crowley hates you, but he's in love.
> 
> Aziraphale is fucking sick of everyone's bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO CHAPTERS IN ONE WEEK.
> 
> Don't get used to this because I'm starting both college -on Monday- and my job -today-, so updates will likely take two weeks from now own, tho I'll try to write as much as possible. The fucking THESIS is the problem here! 
> 
> I have noticed how much you guys LIKED the last chapter quite a lot. It was either the fluff or the pining, but the response has been incredible nonetheless. Good for us! I'm so happy you're enjoying this as much as I am, really.
> 
> I hope you like this one too! See you in the End Notes!
> 
> (Also, I've edited the tags as well, now they're more accurate!)

Gabriel was weird for the next three days, to your astonishment. Not in a crazy way, luckily, but he had this very relaxed and unusual vibe around him. On Wednesday, you saw him plop his whole body on the couch like a regular, leisuring human; a yogurt in one hand and a packet of oatmeal with dry fruit on the other, and spent his afternoon watching _Hamilton_ on his tablet. When you had stopped, incredulous, to look at him instead of running to the door because you were late for your shift, he just raised a cocky eyebrow at you and pointed at the American musical, tapping his feet in tune with the rhythm.

“This is good.”

“Uh, yeah? I like _Hamilton_ too.”

He nodded to himself, eating his yogurt monstrosity peacefully, and then pointed back at you with the spoon. “How come you’ve never put this out loud when we hear music?”

You hummed, hearing Eliza sing her pain, and accompanied her with the rumble of your voice for a few seconds. “You know? That’s a good question.”

The next day you caught him whistling the songs during dinner. You _had_ to ask, alright? The curiosity was eating you alive and the gossip in the restaurant, after Aziraphale’s visit, had died days ago. You were bored and your roomie was acting like he had make the deal of his life, it was temptation incarnated.

“So, I take that company thing you had to do was good?” Listen, you were awful at starting discrete conversations and you were itching to know. Delicacy was meant for another matters. “You’ve been beaming this week.”

“Oh, yes. You _know_ I can’t go into detail, but it did go better than even I expected.” He hummed, playing a bit with the salad you had made for dinner. He had wanted to try a pasta salad, though, and you had pushed him out of the kitchen because you were so not eating carbohydrates at this late hour. Also, you were hungry and waiting for the macaroni to boil was something you didn’t want to do. Gabriel would have to suck it. “I must confess, however, that hearing those news of yours about Aziraphale and Crowley did really good things for my humour.”

“I can tell. Didn’t know you’d, eh, resent Aziraphale so much.”

“I’ve been trying to get the upper hand on him for ages. Now, I have. It’s _very_ rewarding.”

“Hmm, glad I could help, I guess.”

You, of course, had told your friends about it the first second you had been free to call them, and made a whole deal out of it, stablishing your camp on the kitchen table instead of inside your room. That happened to be one day when your shift started at midday, and you had the whole morning free. Gabriel was out, on his daily jog, and you had decided to occupy the only lace in the house where snacks where at a hand’s reach.

“I’m telling you, he’s like bunny jumping around.” You insisted. To your bafflement, your three friends shared a look and then broke into laughing. Patricia felt off her chair, and Laura was hiding her huge smile in Marc’s shoulder. You rolled your eyes, used to their bullshit. “What. Come on. Where’s the joke? It’s on me, right? What’s it about now?”

“I told you guys this would happen. I win the bet, you tow are coming back here for Christmas!” clapped Patricia, red-faced.

“What bet? Are you making bets about me? What’s wrong with you people!” It’s not like you really minded, honestly, as long as you could scream their heads off in your mother language. English was a very crafty tongue to speak when it comes down to insults: it has a lot of room for innovations; but there’s nothing like sending someone to starve in Hell in one’s native language.

Marc, your bloody _best friend_ , nodded wildly. “We knew you’d end up crushing on him.”

“I do _not_.”

“You do!” insisted Laura. “C’mon, every time we call you end up talking about him and if those co-workers of yours can tell even when they don’t know you, then it’s obvious we’d notice!”

“They were talking about _Aziraphale_. Not about Gabriel. Listen, I love you, but you’re all insufferable and incredibly stupid.”

“Oh, sweet, sweet Gabriel.”

“Gabriel is not sweet” you furrowed your nose, trying to picture him like that. The results were creepy. “He’s a flashy bastard who thinks he’s always right. And I don’t have a crush on him, what the Hell. Why are we even talking about him, anyways?”

“You started it, girlie.”

“Well!” you blurted, tapping on the table impatiently. First the wrinkled menace that you had to call landlady and now these people. So, okay, your social circle was narrow at its best, but that didn’t mean anything. You so did not have a crush on Gabriel. “It’s either him or my work. And there’s nothing happening in the latter. I spoke with my bro the other day, but it was whatever, just catching up. I could talk about my books, but-”

“Oh, no, don’t you start with that.” Cut Laura, full-on crossing her arms to make her point visible. Marc and Patricia had covered their ears ridiculously, with a pain-filled expression. You blew them a raspberry. 

“There you have it! You never let me talk about my interests!” You raised your hands in the air and mocked them. “The censorship is heinous!”

“A’ight, a’ight. There must be something else, tho. No news in London about anything lately?”

“Not that I know of, just the usual doomsday rubbish” you shrugged. On the background, the lock at the front door jingled. Gabriel was back, it seemed. That meant you had to cut the conversation short, not knowing what the horndogs you had for friends would do now that they thought you had a crush on Gabriel. Better not to temp the Devil. “’Kay, guys, this was great, you all suck very, very much. I love you. Bye.”

“No. No, no, no.” Yelped Marc, clapping his hands to get your attention before you could click on the red button to hang up. You were weak for him, he was your buddy, and you were so _sure_ he was now selling you for a bit of gossip it was dumb. You, however, waited, regretting your choice already. “Hear me out, introduce us to the boyfriend and then we’ll go and leave you alone.”

You saw the grey profile of your roommate’s sport clothing in the tiny screen that reflected your reality, meticulously placing his keys in the godforsaken key-bowl and stretching a bit. He was a man to die for his ideas, and he still went out to jog with the sweaters instead of a running t-shirt like any other fucking sane person. “I’m going to kill you-”

“Hi, Gabriel!” screamed your computer, your three friends smiling like the little fucks they were, in perfect English as if they had planned this shit all along. Your reflection on the screen had a story to tell about regrets and betrayal.

Gabriel, poor soul, jumped at the unfamiliar voices, frowned in confusion and approached you. Your friends kept smiling politely and Laura waved her hand at him happily. Your eyes, on the other hand, promised murder. “Hello?”

You fisted your hands a couple of times and sighed, gesticulating in the general direction of the computer. “My friends here, uh, they want to make acquaintances with you...” you introduced them to each other; your friends were nice about it, very well-mannered, but Gabriel just nodded at them, acknowledging their existence and nothing more, obviously uninterested. You were secretly happy he wasn’t cutting them no slack because this ambush they had pulled didn’t deserve any. Fuckers.

You felt more than saw Gabriel raising his eyebrows, likely wondering what these people would want. “Nice to meet you. Now, if you’d excuse me, I have-”

“You know, we were just wondering about what news are nowadays in London, but she, poor girl, doesn’t seem to know” started Patricia pointing at you, and her neck looked very tempting under her desk lamp’s light, just right to strangle. Again, you shot her a _look_ and she smiled innocently.

“I still don’t understand the purpose of this call” maintained your roommate. He looked at you: “Is this any kind of social ritual I’m not quite getting again or...?”

“No-”

“Yes” said Marc, fast as lightning. “It’s about time we met our buddy’s roomie, don’t you think? We’ve heard everything about you! She says you’re the one keeping up with the new stuff?”

Gabriel gave you a very smug look for a split-second. You ignored him pointedly, busy glaring at your bestie and trying to make his head explode with the power of your brainwaves. It wasn’t working. Must had been the screen’s doing. “Little goblin here is usually at her job, so, yes; it is I who keeps up with the world.”

“Oh my God, little goblin” whispered Laura, covering her face. She looked you dead in the eyes and spoke to you in your own language, blushing and laughing: “ _You are his little goblin._ ”

You were beyond mortified now. “This call is over. I’m finishing it.” You pushed Gabriel, who had made room for himself above your shoulder and was now adamant about staying. “Don’t you have push-ups to do or something? Huh? Go! Go exercise.”

“I did hear about this thing, a ‘carnival’ of sorts, happening soon” mused Gabriel, ignoring you, and you really weren’t liking his face right now. It was so hard to push him; he was like a wall of concrete. He was definitely paying you the same attention and respect one would! “The online newspaper -what a _concept_ \- said it was out of town, however? I was wondering what kind of festivity it would be, and if you would be willing to explain?”

You knew he was having fun, his face said it all. How? How could have you thought of this man as an angel? Were you stupid or blind or deaf or just everything altogether? He was evil incarnate. _Yet,_ you did promise, back all those months ago, to help him adapt and explore what he had called ‘the commoner life’. He was using that fucking pretext now. Fuck him. _Fuck him._

“One sec” and, glaring at your so-called friends, you gave them a very heartfelt middle finger and hung up, smacking the computer’s screen down. You rolled your eyes so hard you saw the inside of your cranium, and then sighed at Gabriel. “I’m so sorry about them.”

He shrugged and went to move the couch out of the way to make room for his push-ups. “Humans are weird everywhere. So, do you gossip about me often?”

“I do not gossip about you, you smartass.” You quickly retorted, carrying your computer back to your room. You kicked him in the back of his knees for good measure, and he tripped you with one hand, grabbing your ankle. “I catch up with them about my life and you happen to be part of it. Get off your high horse.”

“Mhmm.”

“Augh, think whatever you want, who’s stopping you.”

“Oh, I will.”

Gabriel, nonchalant, started his routine again, forgetting about you. His morning had been excellent; not a cloud in the sky, not a car on the streets, not a bike in the park. His jogging route had been perfect, and he had improved his time, too. That had him worried, having to maintain his corporal body’s fitness. He did exercise while still up in Heaven, but it was mostly to keep himself busy and gain some me-time. No one was allowed to bother him while he jogged, and all angels, whether nicely or with harsh encouragement, understood that sooner or later.

“I’m hopping in the shower; I’ve got work later in the afternoon. Erase that smile off your face, you smug crap.”

“ _Mhmm_.”

* * *

Gabriel had been in a cloud. He still thought about God’s words and it had been so easy to understand them after a getting a bit of perspective. He had felt love for everything since his creation, and he had taken it for granted somehow. Like a background noise of sorts.

Yes, he had other emotions, of course, both positive and negative. He wasn’t made of cardboard! He was awfully familiar with frustration, with annoyance; sometimes, even with anger. That happened a lot right after the Almostmageddon. It was aggravating. He didn’t want to feel that way, but emotions were hard to hold back once they wormed their path inside one’s mind.

He had come down on Earth, and he had been so busy learning about all that surrounded him that he had forgotten about himself. He had thought he knew what he was feeling. What a fool! How simple, how narrow-minded had he been.

He thought a lot about you, too, and it had distracted him.

He had been so focused on the big picture that he had neglected the actual sphere of influence he had. He had assimilated everything, yet he knew nothing! He should had known better.

He loved the world and every creature it contained! How hard had been to connect that, following that simple rule, he had loved you too. Ah, he felt dumb. Just figuring that easy piece out gave him so much peace of mind. Neither Aziraphale nor Crowley represented a threat anymore, and, as it seemed, Gabriel could just relax for a bit and let nature do its work.

Now, he could actually focus on learning, not about the world, but about you. That was his new purpose. He had decided it the moment he had felt the love coming from you. It was such an easy feeling to recognize, too! What had he been thinking? Once he identified it, from among all the emotions that you emitted non-stop, spotting it was effortless.

Everything you did, at least inside the flat, was somehow linked with love. You loved to eat, you loved your warm showers, you loved your music and you loved, quite extraordinarily, your book collection-that one hadn’t surprised Gabriel one bit, you _adored_ those things almost irrationally. You also loved doing things with him, to his pleasure. Cooking, when you laughed the most for some reason, seemed to be the most popular, but he had caught whiffs of love when you were just sitting on the couch, watching videos or reading together.

He had to admit it was pretty flattering, as an Archangel and a being of love, that he could produce and inspire such a feeling from you.

You had also started to do the most interesting thing, too. That unusual flush, he could recognize; it happened to him as well, from time to time. It signalled embarrassment. If he pointed it out, the colour would just grow in intensity, and you almost always slapped his arm -or wherever you could reach- to make him shut his mouth. It was an entertaining reaction. What could you be embarrassed for, he didn’t know. Yet.

By trial and error, he had found out the ‘Gaby Moments’ made you blush, one way or another; if you made an obvious mistake, too. If he mocked you in certain way, you’d also squeak. Of laughter, which was his favourite. All of those came with intense waves of love, and Gabriel enjoyed them thoroughly, basking in them like a cat in the sun. He had seen you redden out of anger once, but he hadn’t liked it very much. The emotions coming from you had been terrible -luckily, not directed at him at the time it had happened- and he preferred having you happy anyways, so it was a department he didn’t feel like exploring.

Today, you had been red in the face, too, when he had arrived the flat. It was your friends’ doing, clearly, but Gabriel had been seriously tempted to collaborate on that front. He caved in, and your reaction had been delicious.

You had called that ‘teasing’.

You were up to banter with him most of the time, to defend yourself against these so-called provocations of his, and it made Gabriel’s day just to learn where your limits were. Sometimes, like just now, you’d run away to leave him ‘with his stupidity’. He didn’t mind it, it still counted as a victory in his eyes.

While he was in the middle of his exercise your phone sang, up in its place on the table. You took great pride in personalising tunes for all of your contacts -Gabriel positively hated that the one you had for him was a kazoo wheezing a military march-, and this one sounded quite particular. You were not a caller, unless it was an emergency, and all of your friends knew and respected that. The only people you allowed to call you had been your younger brother, Crowley -who’s tune Gabriel recognized after you had shown him, finally solving is doubts about who would you associate with that terrible disco song that never stopped trying to contact you- and him. This song was heavy, with a lot of drums and a bad feeling about it. He, however, didn’t have the need to get his nose in your business, and kept with what he was doing.

You looked refreshed after your shower, with your hair still wet and your body hidden under a long as Hell T-shirt. A cloud of vapour followed you outside the bathroom and Gabriel wondered once again how you could stand such hot temperatures in summer. Even he had to surrender to the cold water, unable to clean himself with hot water under this weather. He watched you stretch, and then, even though you both knew he didn’t need it, you helped him move the couch back to its place.

The Archangel disappeared inside his room for a moment, grabbing a change of clothes to go wash off the sweaty results of his exercises. “Someone just called you” he added abstinently.

“They did?”

Gabriel was about to close the door and shower when a strong wave of anger hit him. He stuck his head out again, holding onto the door frame. You had your phone in your hand and a dark expression on, lips pursed, and nose furrowed in disgust. Your mouth twitched and another negative wave emerged. Gabriel wondered for a second if he should ask, and decided to do it with utmost care, not feeling like having his head bitten off. “Is everything alright?”

You didn’t answer, too focused on squeezing the device in your hands. Your knuckles turned white with the pressure. Gabriel called you name, and you blinked, looking at him. “Sorry.”

“Is something bothering you?” He repeated.

You snorted, it wasn’t a happy sound, clicked your tongue and then shook your head in bitter bafflement. He watched you erase the notification in your phone and put it on silent mode, throwing it back on the table. “My mother, it seems. But all is good.”

Gabriel stood there, mute for a second, trying to decipher the gibberish that were your emotions. You had chocked down your anger, to his surprise, and calmed yourself, peacefully picking a book you had been reading for the last days and returning to your lecture on the couch.

“...Alright.”

* * *

Aziraphale was a soft soul, and anybody that looked at him for more than twelve seconds could tell you that. That’s what Crowley was for, too keep an eye out for his angel. The Principality was very flattered at this, of course, because it meant he had even more chances to hold his beloved’s hand in public.

Crowley, despite all the ‘unapproachable bad guy’ vibe he liked to give off, was a soft soul, too. Who would have guessed that he was the one who melted at just one of his lover’s caresses or love-filled compliments. Aziraphale felt great pride in making his serpent tremble and stutter. Crowley claimed he hated it when the angel would embarrass him on purpose, but he was always coiling back around him in less than a minute. Aziraphale was very smug about this as well.

After his little trip to your restaurant, where he had been treated as a king, he had even more arguments to give Crowley to convince him to regain your friendship, but the demon was stubborn as the Hell he had fallen in and refused to listen to reason. They had a huge disagreement about it, and Crowley went to sleep to his own house that night for the first time in weeks.

He still couldn’t understand how his angel could be so blind. Did he really believe Heaven and Hell were going to keep their words and stay away for them? They had stopped the Apocalypse, for fuck’s sake, and then faced the Devil himself! Consequences were in order, and, after a year of peace and quiet, he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because it would. _It would_. Crowley had forgotten about Heaven, but he knew how Hell operated, and it was just a matter of time.

The presence of Gabriel on Earth, however, spoke volumes about what the intentions upstairs were. Was the shit-eating fuck down here just to make them nervous? Because, against whatever Crowley would admit, it was working. If Gabriel was there, Michael wouldn’t be far off behind. Or Sandalphon, or Uriel. Or, God forbid - _eurgh-,_ Beelzebub _._ The old serpent didn’t need no demon huffing around in his businesses, thank you very much.

He was tired of arguing with Aziraphale about the same topic, however, but his angel couldn’t just let it go. As far as Crowley was concerned, there was no way in Hell you were an actual human. He was sure you were an angel in disguise -a very good one, that is, but Heaven did have a R&D department, where do you think the hoverboards came from?-, ready to strike down and discorporate them both to, then, subject them to the tortures of their own realm. How sickening.

...But he couldn’t keep himself away from Aziraphale. Damn, he was in love, alright? The only time he had managed to stay away was during that century he was asleep! And he had _dreamed_ with him, so it didn’t count as a full victory.

He was now napping on one of the hidden sofas dispersed inside the bookshop, arms crossed, and face burrowed between cushions. It was his favourite, and Aziraphale had its upholstery renewed every ten years or so for his comfort; it had a velvety fabric in a vibrant shade of red, exactly like the throne he had back in his flat, and golden buttons to decorate it. From this position he still had a clear look at the front door and the hallway that led to the back of the shop from between the books and the strategically positioned shelves, too.

He had just woken up from a light sleep, brain and senses fuzzy, when he got a whiff of that freshness that characterized Heaven. He knew Aziraphale’s, warm and inviting as a summer afternoon, and, unfortunately, he knew this one too. All angels had positive, welcoming auras, and this one resembled a cold, crispy morning with freshly fallen snow. The bad part?

It belonged to fucking Gabriel.

Ten seconds later, presence announced with the light pitch of the doorbell, the Archangel stepped inside the bookshop. Crowley chocked a hiss, frowning at his easy-going posture, and was tempted to move and say something not very nice when Aziraphale, waving at him to stay down, indicated Gabriel to follow him inside and towards the back.

Then, his angel approached Crowley, and he made room for him to sit on the couch, still laying down. Aziraphale brushed his hand through the red curls and the demon’s jaw affectionately. “Did he wake you up?”

Crowley nuzzled the hand, not caring if his sunglasses got in the way, and left a fluttering kiss on the pale skin. “What’s he doing here? D’ya need me to go back there?”

“None of that. I was expecting him to show up sooner or later, actually” Aziraphale hummed. “Maybe, after learning whatever he could want now, I could try and discover if he is really here to harm us. Would that soothe you, my dear? I know you have been having trouble sleeping lately.”

“... I don’t like ‘im here on Earth. Ya’ _need_ to be careful.”

“I will, worry not” and, with one last kiss to Crowley’s forehead and another on his lips, the angel left to meet with his superior.

Gabriel had found his own way to entertain himself, it seemed, investigating the books around the back. They were unorganized, a bit dusty, and about every topic imaginable. Yet, he had a mess _just like that_ at home, in the best part of the living room. He had been horrified when he had firstly visited the shop, but, now? Well, what could he say? Try living with the Gollum version of books -no, he did not get the reference, but you took pride in that nickname, whatever that meant.

“Gabriel” called Aziraphale and guided him towards two ornated wing chairs he had by the windows. He offered the Archangel a cup of tea out of habit, and, to his surprise, Gabriel nodded, shrugging. “Oh! I didn’t know you liked tea.”

Gabriel gave him another professional and frozen smile and gestured at the cup, miracling its contents. To Aziraphale’s nose came a soft, sweet and bitter smell. “I’m more into cappuccinos lately. I like the foam.”

“Ah.” Well, Aziraphale didn’t know what to do with that information. Gabriel was never one for small talk, and he was a bit lost. The Archangel didn’t appear menacing, or angry, yet he suspected you had already told him about his little visit at your restaurant. “What, ehm, what can I do for you, then? News from Heaven, I dare say?”

“No, no” he said, conciliatory, and them seemed to think about it again. Aziraphale took a cautious sip of his cup and nibbled on a miracled pastry. “Well, yes. But not for you.”

Beautiful snide, thank you, Gabriel. Aziraphale’s smile turned strained for a second; it was always a _pleasure_ talking with people like him. “I see-”

A light ‘ping’ emerged from one of Gabriel’s pockets, interrupting whatever Aziraphale was going to say. The angel didn’t know if he should be grateful or not, because he had no clue about how to proceed with this conversation and that was kind of stressing. Gabriel reached his phone, read the message for a second, and then started typing. Three or four ‘pings’ later, Aziraphale’s gesture was as tense and smooth as a porcelain figure, having witnessed his superior snort a couple of times but not daring to say anything to regain his attention.

“The human world is quite interesting, don’t you think?” was Gabriel’s first comment after pocketing his phone back in his trousers. He had a very, uh... well, satisfied was not the word Aziraphale was going for, but he couldn’t find one that suited the situation at that moment.

There was this foreign feeling about Gabriel, totally opposite to what he had perceived the last time he had seen him. Back then, the Archangel had been tense and on guard, but now... He was at ease; still with his military stance and his calculated movements, but lax.

That was good, right? If the Archangel was this relaxed, it meant Heaven was a well. God had given him news, too, as he had said, and his demeanour wasn’t threatening or complacent, like they had the upper hand about something and Aziraphale and Crowley could do nothing about it. It was strange seeing him like that, as Crowley would say, ‘without that broomstick up his ass’, but not totally unpleasant. Just... odd. 

But about what he had said, about the world being a place of interesting discoveries... Well, _that_ was one of the reasons why Aziraphale had wanted to save it, for starters. Had he possessed a petty character, he would have made that remark out loud, but the truth is he was pleased to hear that statement from an Archangel.

“It is. Humans are ever changing, after all. Always adapting to their surroundings and overcoming whatever menace comes their way. It’s truly a trait to admire.”

Gabriel seemed to give that sentence a thought, to Aziraphale’s excitement. “...You are right. They tend to do that; stubborn creatures. How do you deal with them? I believe you hold your belongings -these books- as a big priority in your existence, yet you had decided to stablish your settlement in a bookshop. I find it curious.”

“I...” Aziraphale strongly doubted Gabriel was interested in his life at this point of their relationship, but he humoured the Archangel nonetheless, happy to get an opportunity to show off his expertise in Earthy matters. Crowley already knew all his adventures, and it’s not like he was going to reveal a huge secret, so where was the harm in telling a little tale or two?

* * *

**_You:_ ** _Where u at? The house’s empty_

**_You:_ ** _Finished my shift early today. Want me 2 buy dinner_

**_You:_ ** _?????_

**_You:_ ** _I’m thinking Asian food. It’s ‘bout time u try wontons anyway_

**_He With The Scarf:_ ** _I’m at Aziraphale’s bookshop at this moment._

**_He With The Scarf:_ ** _I thought it’d be a good idea to catch up with him._

**_You:_ ** _Whatev’ ur doing don mess it up_

**_You:_ ** _I like Aziraphale_

**_He With The Scarf:_ ** _Of course you do._

**_You:_ ** _(middle finger emoji)_

**_You:_ ** _Will u b long? Can pick u up_

**_You:_ ** _There’s a restaurant on the way back home from there. It could b take out style_

**_He With The Scarf:_ ** _That sounds like a nice idea. I will be here._

**_He With The Scarf:_ ** _Please, learn to type._

**_You:_ ** _Lick my left toe, G._

* * *

The route you had to take, if you looked it up in a map, would be scribbled around London like some short of deformed triangle. Aziraphale’s bookshop was in between the restaurant and your flat, but so down south, around the touristic areas, that getting there seemed like a quest on itself. At least, because of that, reaching the place via public transport was an easy feat.

You stood at the entrance, between the two marbled columns that framed the butterfly doors, for a whole minute. You had promised yourself you would never go back in there, hadn’t you? Every time you entered the blasted bookshop, something bad happened to you. It was a curse, either on you or on the place. Also, Crowley could be in there, and you didn’t really feel like confronting him.

...A deep breath. You could do it. There was nothing cooler than a haunted bookshop.

The bell and its song felt familiar by now, and you breathed in the dusty smell of paper, leather and time. Aziraphale wasn’t that old, how did he manage to get his shop to smell like that? Perhaps he inherited it?

...It wasn’t a cologne, was it? You’d throw yourself at anyone that smelled like dusty bookshops and ask them to marry you if that was a real thing. You knew you weren’t alone in this journey; the whole internet had your back. Nerds, assemble.

The atmosphere was a bit darker on the inside, the windows covered with worn down signals written by hand, and chillier than the hellish outside, thankfully. The floor creaked and an old candelabra glinted in the afternoon golden light, showing the path floating dust particles followed in the air.

“Whatcha’ doing here again?”

Of course. Of course he’d be here. It was his boyfriend’s workplace and living building, presumably, why wouldn’t he be? It stung nonetheless, to your annoyance, having him addressing you in such a rude way.

You clicked you tongue at him, finding Crowley laying down on the most beautiful and tacky sofa you had ever seen. “I think I’ve already told you I don’t have to answer any of your questions.”

“This is _Aziraphale’s_ bookshop. He ‘as the right t’ refuse service t’ anyone he wants and t’ kick ya’ out.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing you’re not Aziraphale.”

You kept walking, finding an individual divan on your own, and busied yourself with your phone. You could still feel Crowley’s glare on your face, and you tried your best to ignore him. It hurt having him so close, and you still had all those funny pictures he had snapped for you about his day when you were still civilized with each other. You really had wanted him to be your friend... But he had made his choice, and so had you. And that was the tea.

There was soft music, jazz, in the air, but no other customers to enjoy it. Just Crowley and you. Actually, you didn’t think he counted as a customer. So, it was just you; you avoided looking at the books, knowing well how you’d be unable to buy any of them and stopped yourself from getting tempted.

By the time you started wondering if Aziraphale ran a bookshop or a torture chamber for bookworms, the disc in the player screeched to a stop, and the masked steps its music had covered reverberated in the wooden room, effectively distracting you from Crowley’s deadly eyes.

“Oh, you’re already here. Good.”

You waved at Gabriel and Aziraphale, standing up from that cloud-like sofa -another reason to think the bookshop a torture business, leaving those couches was pure suffering. “Hi, guys.”

Aziraphale waved back at you, unfolding his hand. Unlike the last time, he didn’t seem nervous or anxious, just a bit out of place. He still kept himself behind Gabriel and at a respectful distance, but his stance was comfortable and casual. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Thanks, you too” you turned your head to look at Gabriel, and you found him busy inspecting Crowley. The red head was sitting still on the luxurious couch, but his feet were on the ground now, and he had his elbows perched on his knees, hands crossed and chin resting on them to fully show his disapproval and how much he wanted you to know he was glaring at you. Subtle, he was not. You called Gabriel again. “Ready to go? It’s getting late and we still need to pick up the food.”

“The food?” mouthed Aziraphale, looking at Gabriel in undignified confusion.

“I still don’t understand your obsession with exotic meals. The local cuisine is good enough” shrugged Gabriel, shoulder bobbing up and down as he approached your tiny figure. He had to hold back a smile at Aziraphale’s outrage. The angel was good keeping himself quiet, but the emotions coming from him were loud as a traffic jam.

You whacked his arm playfully, and Aziraphale and Crowley were convinced, like two mountaineers witnessing a landslide, that Gabriel was going to decapitate you right then and there. To their astonishment, Gabriel not only did _not_ slaughter you, but he even flicked your forehead, following your dumb game.

That was it. That was the End of the World, screw the Armageddon.

“ _The local cuisine is good enough, nyeh nyeh nyeh_ ” you mocked Gabriel, scrunching your nose, and Crowley felt himself faint. “You liked the sushi good enough, didn’t you? I’ll make you swallow your words this time too.”

“ _He what?_ ” gasped Aziraphale, mouth agape and incredibly offended.

“Bye, Aziraphale” Indifferent to all of that, you said your goodbyes to the shopkeeper, already opening the door.

“We shall meet again; this was an enlightening afternoon. Thank you for the tea.”

The moment you two were out of the shop, both Crowley and Aziraphale ran to the door. There you were, crossing the street and chattering the Archangel’s head off about something to do with dim sum sauce. Gabriel, despite his long legs, maintained his pace to be able to walk at your side, and you got lost in the crowd.

Crowley slammed his head against the dirty glass that decorated the front door, eyes wide as saucers. “Did ya’ see that?”

“Did _you_ see that?” replied Aziraphale, blinking dumbfounded. “Did you _hear_ that?”

“... the what-?”

“Did you hear what she said about the sushi? Oh, the hypocrisy!” Aziraphale smacked his own arms in anger, fuming. “Can you believe it? He’s been laughing at my face this whole time! Oh, Lord-”

“Angel, I’m not getting it.”

But the Principality was too occupied stomping his feet, enraged, and pouting, to pay attention to Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad for Aziraphale, ok? He's a baby and everyone is always fucking with him one way or another.  
> Get ready because next chapter is -PROBABLY, IF NOTHING ELSE DISTRACTS ME- the carnival chapter!  
> Prepare for so many clichés, SO MANY.
> 
> Thank you everyone who left a comment and I'll see you guys in the next update!


	13. Bird Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goose, geese, who cares?
> 
> A bit of comedy, a bit of drama, and a trip to the countryside.
> 
> Gabriel blushes and now you have physical evidences of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK.
> 
> I did say we'd have some clichés in this chapter, and while we DO have them, it's not the full extent to what I meant. BUT WE ARE PREPARING THE GROUND FOR IT, CAUSE NEXT CHAPTER IS GOING TO BE INSANE.
> 
> Get ready for the fluff, I aready gave you the heads up.

You were starving, sweating and your feet ached. A squeamish girl, new in the wedding business and assigned to your orders to follow the ceremony’s protocol, busied herself carrying bottles of white and red wine to and fro in the kitchen. You had been observing the disaster unfold for a hot minute now. It was her first service, and you really wanted to be patient with her, but it was turning out to be really difficult. You were a prime specimen when it comes to clumsiness, but this waitress’ abilities were nerve-wrecking. She couldn’t be worse if she tried.

Well, it’ not like it could be worse- You heard stomping and one of the cooks whistled a warning at you, but it was too late.

“You!” the director of the wedding addressed you, walking towards as it trying to crack the kitchen’s tiles with his soles. “I’ve told you trice already! You need to be out there serving! What the Hell are you doing here? ?I’ve said it a thousand times already, are you deaf? If you ain’t doing anything in here, you need to be there with the customers! Get out!”

You smiled at his red face, your politeness mask in place and without a single fracture despite his disrespect. God, you wanted to snap his neck badly. The bastard had assigned you not only three tables -ten people per table- with a shining new staff member but also the duty to feed and serve the wedding staff; that is, photographers, DJ’s, and the owners of the state, _and he had the balls to come and yell at you for doing your job_.

The wedding’s attendance was massive, and you were doing your best with what you had; if only you could get the newbie girl to step out of the kitchen and do what you had told her... She was now too intimidated to do anything, with that beast of a douchebag yelling in your faces. Your patience was running thin, but you knew better than to face this man.

“Of course, I’m right on it.”

You snapped your fingers at the girl to get her attention, dropping the four plates you were carrying and helped her open a bottle of red that was giving her trouble. You had opened so many of those that now the motions were part of your muscle memory, and the cork was in your hand in no time.

“I’m so sorry! Thank you so much-“

“Here” you picked the plates again, pointing at the bottle with your chin. “Go out and make sure everyone in our tables has enough to drink. First water, then white wine, then the red one. Ask them how they are liking their meal, and if anyone want’s their fillet more cooked. If they do, bring the plate here and let Andrew, the cook, know. He’ll help you. I’ll go take care of the staff and I’ll be back in a second to give you a hand, alright?”

She was trembling with exhaustion already, pale and sweaty, but nodded nonetheless and rushed out to the banquet hall. You ground your teeth, looking at the just opened bottle sitting there on the counter. She came back, apologized again, picked the bottle and left again. You shook your head and headed to the opposite direction, where a narrow door and some old stairs led you to the room in which a table of eight waited to be served.

Four tables, only two people to serve them and one of them on their first service. You hated this director’s guts, and he, yours; you had some rough history together, and he took great pleasure in screaming till his chords stopped functioning as long as he could abuse waiters. He knew you people needed the money and would put up with his bullshit as long as you would get paid. Still, you’d never thought he would be willing to risk protocol and the wedding’s profit just to force you to step down your attitude and quit the job. He hated that your presence had modified the group of waiters he already had domesticated because of the gig his boss had with the restaurant you usually worked at, and he always tried his best to break you.

You truly despised working under him -there were so much better directors you had the pleasure to meet in the weddings business who never treated the waiters under their lead as the dirt the walked on...-, but you stayed out of spite and with the best of your smiles. If he wanted to get rid of you, he would have to use boiling water and bleach.

You made another trip with the last four plates, got the nasty glares for the slowness from them because you had taken too long and that was, quote-unquote, _inadmissible;_ and got yelled a bit more back in the kitchen for good luck.

Still smiling and nodding, you went out there and kept working, giving directions to the newbie whenever she’d be at hearing range. Then dessert, then the coffee and liqueurs. And, _then,_ to clean the banquet hall -linings, tables, chairs, lost cutlery...- while the commensals exited towards the dancing area, where a bar had already been prepared beforehand to satisfy their alcoholic needs.

You plopped down on one of the forged, stiff chairs rich people loved, not even bothering to pick a decorative cushion to lessen the impact on your butt. You saw your newbie do the same at the other side of the kitchen, chatting with some other waiters and scarfing down a whole fillet. Someone kicked you foot and you raised your head grunting, accepting the lame sandwich Robbie was handling you.

You never had much of an appetite after the weddings, purely out of exhaustion, but Robbie always offered food nonetheless, even if he knew you’d give it to the office staff rather than eat it. There was this old guy there, Vladimir, Ukrainian, who always ate during the service like he had never seen food before. “What time is it?”

“Two thirty. We eat, get paid and then we go back to London” said Robbie, and left to dinner with his pals. You nibbled the sandwich, but your stomach was stubborn, and the effort was in vain, you couldn’t hold food in you even if you tried.

You went to give Vladimir the concoction -he blew you a chef kiss- and returned to your chair miserably, ready to wait until the others were done and killing the time with your phone. You had felt it vibrate in the afternoon but didn’t catch a break to see who had messaged you.

**_He With The Scarf:_ ** _(One image attached)_

Now intrigued at would Gabriel want you to see, you tapped on the blurry yet colourful square, but your phone refused to open the picture. You groaned. The state you always worked in with the insufferable director was incredibly beautiful and luxurious, and far closer to the city than the others were, but it was still the middle of nowhere and your data refused to do its job.

**_You:_ ** _Can’t see the pic. Doesn’t load_

**_You:_ ** _Go 2 sleep_

**_You:_ ** _I know ur awake_

**_He With The Scarf:_ ** _Are you still at work? It is very late._

**_You:_ ** _Robbie’s still eating_

**_You:_ ** _We’ll head out when he’s done_

**_You:_ ** _Go the fuck 2 sleep_

You got paid, Robbie left you safely at the pickup point and bid you goodnight, and you rode the nocturnal bus that would drop you a few streets away from your building. It was very dark outside, with the same humidity that told you summer was finally reaching its end, and you walked fast to return home, hands deeply buried inside your hoodie’s front pocket and eyes sharp just in case.

Gabriel was waiting for you at the kitchen table, already in his far too formal pyjamas, setting down a steaming bowl of milk and the cardboard box of cereal on your side of the table. There were already a spoon and a paper napkin there.

You closed the door, rubbing your face and leaving the keys and your bag at the entrance. Then, kicked you shoes off, sighing in utter relief. “I told you to go to sleep like an hour ago.”

“An hour and a half, yes” and he waved at the food, “but you can’t go around not eating. Sit down.”

You considered arguing with him very seriously, incredibly fed up with how the night had gone, but, in the end, your anger was caused by your boss and his shitty attitude. Gabriel, who had actually bothered to prepare you something to eat in the middle of the night instead of sleeping, didn’t have to pay for it.

You sighed and sat down, and your stomach lurched at the sight of the food. You frowned your lips and looked at him pitifully, your belligerent impulses deflating like a pricked balloon. “I’m just drinking the milk; I really can’t eat anything right now.”

“It’ll suffice. Do you want a spoonful of honey with it?” He passed you the pot after you nodded, your tiredness showing in the slowness of your movements. He kept quiet for a few moments, analytical purple eyes mercilessly scanning you. “... You really need to rest. I’m not talking about just today.”

You nodded again, not wanting to make any other effort at communicating, and took a sip from the bowl. He had a point, but you had to work somewhere, and the wedding stuff was notoriously prolific regarding money. “These weddings do kill me. Suggestions?”

Gabriel tapped his fingers on the table for a few seconds but did seem to have thought about this topic already with how fast he answered. “What about we go back to the St. James tomorrow? It’s been quite a while, and I’ve read fresh air does wonders for stress.”

“Tomorrow’s Monday.”

He clicked his tongue at your cheekiness. “In about ten hours, then.”

“Hmm.” You thought about it for the rest of your dinner, which passed in silence. “Alright, why not? No ducks involved this time, tho, or I’ll get angry at you for real.”

Your roommate hummed but didn’t give you neither a positive nor a negative answer. You squinted at him.

* * *

Fuck Gabriel.

 _Fuck Gabriel_.

Like. Not even in a sexy way. Not in a rough, passionate way. Fuck him with a bloody, rusty screwdriver covered in thorns. He was the most awful person in the fucking world, ugh, you hated him!

It was a nice afternoon, a bit chilly, and with some fluffy clouds on the clear yet darkening sky. The St. James was almost empty, and the green from the trees created a beautiful scenery when combined with the white gravel paths. You had bought a cup of chocolate and were drinking it calmly as Gabriel strolled by your side. You knew he was happy to be able to get something resembling a coat on after the cold turkey he had to pull during summer, even if this time it was just a jacket.

That was the nice part of the day.

Then, absolute fucknuts you had for a roommate forced you -aka grabbed your chin with his massive hand like an excited child to make you move your head- to notice the innumerable vivid signs covering the park. Yellow, red and orange, with a lot of exclamations marks that emphasized the lack of a design teamwork. It announced a carnival somewhere out of London, and someone has placed them in such a way that made them show the road heading to the lake.

Foolish you, you had been distracted looking at the publicity to pay actual attention to where you were going and now you were doomed.

“You said no ducks, _you said no ducks!_ ” you screeched, keeping yourself at enough distance from the fence to feel some sort of safety under the circumstances, but close enough to be able to scream at that son of a bitch you had for roommate. Damned be the time you had agreed to go hang out with him; it was clear you weren’t in your right mind. What the fuck was wrong with him.

“The ducks are over there, at the other side of the pond” Gabriel pointed, extending his whole arm at the swimming flock congregated in the water. The ducks quaked violently, demanding bread and other goodies from the snob people that thought going to a park to feed the birds required a full frack suit, obviously too far and interested in other things to pay any kind of attention to you or your drama.

“They can fucking fly, you asshole” you protested, pouting.

“We will see them coming well enough to leave before they arrive” he pleasantly replied, hands in his pockets and not a worry in the world. You were tempted to throw your shoes at his head.

“You promised me no stress, you fuck, and this is _none of it_.”

“I didn’t promise…” Gabriel closed his mouth, looking down and beyond you. You heard some ruffling sounds, and a soft tip tap. Your brain’s first reaction was to assume he was pranking you, but you remembered Gabriel wouldn’t know what fun was even if it bit him in the ass.

You quickly turned around, hands balled against your chest and holding your chocolate as a shield.

“What? What are you looking at-?” No, it wasn’t a duck. No, not two ducks, either, or three, or four. Just a bit, fat, wild goose that was giving you -more concretely, your chocolate- the hungriest glare. “Oh, shit.”

“A big, chunky bird” cooed Gabriel, delighted, watching the monster walk towards you with the inept stroll only palmed feet would allow. The goose flapped it wings loudly and you ran to Gabriel’s side, not caring for the pond anymore, so you could use his brainless body as a barrier against the feathered menace. The goose kept approaching, determination unwavering, with a funny bodily wiggle. You hid behind your roommate, and Gabriel patted your head like anyone would do with a shy kid, not understanding why you were so apprehensive out of sudden. “What are you doing? It wants to say hi. Didn’t you like animals? But you’re always so exited to see dogs and cats on the streets, where are you going?”

“I like animals, not _demons_ ” you protested, stuck to his arm and nose scrunched against the fabric of his jacket. Gabriel kept turning around to try to get a good look at you, but you were having none of it. You weren’t freaking moving if that meant offering the goose your back and Gabriel was the one who brought you to the park. If that monster was going to bite someone it was going to be him. “There’s a huge whole difference-!”

“Honk!”

“Eep!” you screeched, jumping shamelessly on Gabriel as he took a few wobbly steps, full on believing you’d fall in the pond and die, until he stabilized. The goose was now just a couple of meters away, looking at you with its big, soulless eyes. You cursed in your mother language colourfully, closing your eyes very hard as if that would make it disappear. When it didn’t work, you begged: “shoo it away!”

“Well, it’s after food, clearly” reasoned the Archangel. You felt a hand try to push you by your hip, but you were both stubborn and freaking out, and fought it until he gave up, “you can come down, it’s not going to do anything. Just give it the chocolate and it’ll leave, I’m certain.”

“You do it! Here, here, have it” you gave him the paper cup, and he bended his knees to reach the bird, offering the drink to appease it. You climbed a bit higher using Gabriel’s hips as leverage. He clicked his tongue but let you be, trying not to drop you or the chocolate. “No, not like that! These things have teeth! It can _chomp_ your finger off, be careful!”

“I’m being careful, see?” Why was he this calm while you were freaking out? You knew the few people that had been out in the park were now actively watching the both of you. Well, watching you, ok. But the bird was fucking enormous and you _hated_ them with all your might. Ugh! “Hmm. The goose it’s a bit too far, this is just not working...”

“G!” you whined pitifully, clutching his jacket. “Stop fucking around and just throw the chocolate at it-!”

“ _Honk!_ ”

You cried again, looping a leg over one of Gabriel’s shoulders and snaking your arms around his neck. He made a noise of surprise when you hauled yourself up until you had his chin at your stomach, and the Archangel struggled to hold you. You felt his elbow dig in your back painfully, and his hand cupping your butt, but you _didn’t care._ You wanted that bird gone, Lord! Was it too much to ask? “Can we go, please, can we go? Is it going to follow us if you chuck the cup at it?”

“...I don’t know?”

“ _Gabriel!_ ”

It took another three minutes of fumbling, another goose joining the mess, and you practically hiding under Gabriel’s shirt, until he decided to just drop the cup with the chocolate on a bench and make a run for it. You knew you would be the most watched video in England for the next three weeks. Fuck teenagers. Fuck everyone. This was the worst day ever.

When your stomach started to grumble, Gabriel paid for the food without complaining once -you had demanded Indian take out, and boy, had it been a scene to buy it in the store-, and your feet didn’t touch the floor until you were back at the apartment, safe and sound with no dangerous birds around. With a full belly, you decided your mission was to make sure Gabriel knew how angry you were at him, and you were using the pouting and frowning as the weapons of choice.

He shook his hand in a dismissible wave from the kitchen, cleaning the cutlery you had used for dinner and sorting the trash. “Stop giving me that look, I already told you I didn’t know the geese would be there.”

“That’s the worst apology ever. Oh, man, at you bad at it.” It wasn’t exactly cold, but you were wrapped in one of the sofa’s blankets anyways, more in search of comfort than warmness.

“I’m not apologizing. I did nothing wrong” he insisted, deadpanning, “I didn’t put the birds there.”

“But why did you have to call them?” You whined.

“I didn’t.” 

“You were cooing at them!”

“I find them interesting. I didn’t know wild birds would answer to words, they usually don’t in the videos I watch.”

“Well, turns out _geese_ do!” You knew Gabriel was rolling his eyes and shaking his head just by the heartfelt sigh he let out. Not that you could see it, because you were bundled up among the cushions and occupying the whole couch like a good potato.

He finished the chores and had to drag one of the kitchen’s chairs to the living room, because you were adamant at not letting him sit with you on the comfortableness that was the sofa. That was a luxury reserved for good roommates, you said. Then, after standing you ignoring his ass for five whole minutes, he poked at the blanket you were hiding under, a hint of excitement in his voice that caught your attention.

“I know just how I can compensate you.”

“Mhmm.”

“I said today would be a day without stress so you could rest from your job, and that clearly didn’t happen. But I do know” he mussed, humming “how to help you rest better. Wait here.”

You exited your fabric burrito to see him disappear inside his bedroom, a skip in his step, and then he came back hiding something behind his back. It piqued your interest, alright. “What’s that?”

“Close your eyes.” You pouted at him again. “No, don’t be unreasonable, close your eyes. It’s supposed to be a gift and it won’t be if you see what it is right away. Now, close your eyes.”

You groaned but humoured him, and something extremely soft landed on your lap. Gabriel nudged your knee and you scooted over so he could sit with you. The couch sank at your side and you fought the blanket to get your hands free, but he stopped you from touching the mysterious object. You made the most exasperated sound a human throat could produce but raised them nonetheless, as if someone was detaining you. “Can I open them now or do I need to pass some sort of trial that will deem me worthy of this present?”

Gabriel’s confidence faltered for a moment, and you searched for his arm blindly to check if he was okay. He made an unusual sound. “...Yes, alright. You can see it now.”

You wondered for a second why he sounded nervous, but your mind went away when your eyes landed on the cushion that rested on your lap. It was really pretty, in a rectangular but thick shape, and decorated with full of colour, geometrical threat stripes. You felt Gabriel lean in to see your reaction, and you felt the pillow, exhaling in wonder. It was beyond soft, it was _perfect._ Your current pillow, flaccid and with no neck support after so many years of use and washes, lacked at everything in comparison to this one.

You did mention, almost a month ago and just passing, that you intended to buy a new one, but you never thought Gabriel would intervene and get you one on his own. The high quality of it was palpable, too, and the filling, whatever it was, gave you some good chills for some reason.

So, it turns out Crowley was right all along. You did have a sugar daddy.

...Oh, God.

“When did you get this?” you stuttered, looking at him. “The quality of this is unbelievable! It must have cost you a fortune.”

Gabriel started doing strange things with his hands, and you recognized the tells as hesitation. He had a strained smile on. “I... made it?”

“You made it? How do you even...?” You squeezed the pillow, testing its comfort, and sighed again, utterly enamoured. “This feels heavenly...”

A weird laugh from Gabriel was all the answer you got, and when you buried your whole face in the pillow he chocked. He was blushing. “What are you doing?”

“Enjoying my new pillow. This is incredible, how the heck did you get me this? You must really be an angel...” you blinked in bafflement, your mind returning to that idea that never seemed to leave your thoughts. It hit you with great force this time, too, and you couldn’t stop yourself from voicing it out loud.

Gabriel chocked again, taking a few breaths in and looking, very interested, at one side. You stared at him, curious, and his face was very, very red. You had no clue why he was being this odd, but you know what? He had been making you blush -on purpose, you knew- as a hobby for the past weeks and now he had to pay for it.

You shamelessly snapped a photo of him and saved it as his contact pic. He frowned at you when he heard the tale telling ‘click’. “Don’t look at me like that, you just gifted me something amazing. My old pillow is going right to the trash.” And you left to do exactly that before he could fight you for your phone, which he was preparing to do if his posture indicated anything.

“You’re deleting that picture later.”

“Bite me” you went to the kitchen to bid goodbye to your old sleeping partner and plopped back on the couch. “For real, tho; you didn’t have to get me anything and now I want to compensate you.”

You would think Gabriel declined your offer, you know, out of the charity and gentleness of his heart, and you’d be fucking wrong. His immediate answer: “The carnival.”

You had totally forgotten about it again, ok? The only thing you could remember about the whole ordeal was the terrible, eye-bleeding signs at the St. James and how they led you to the goose of Hell. Whatever interest did Gabriel have in it; you didn’t get it. “What about it?”

“We should go. You said carnivals were like amusement parks for poor people.”

“I know for sure I never said that.”

“Well, maybe it was something like it; I don’t really listen to you all the time.” You swatted at him and he pinched your nose. “There are not many of those in London, right? I think it would be an enriching experience; also, we get a change of scenery and you get that break you definitely need. Look at those bags under your eyes, they can be seen from France.”

You covered your face with your hands and kicked his legs. “It’s incredibly rude to point someone’s bags.”

“I know, you say it every time.”

“Because _you_ do it every time. I know I have bags, man, I don’t need the reminder.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, waited for you to uncover yourself and then moved his hands in a parallel motion, like holding his point physically as if it was a box. He was rarely this expressive and this adamant about something, and it piqued your interest. “Carnival, yes or no?”

* * *

Despite your usual careless appearance, Gabriel knew you were a highly effective human. The layers of unreasonably big hoodies, the rat-nest hair and the constant tiredness in your face were only a defence mechanism against people on the streets that tried to talk to you, and he had seen the whole act play out on more than once when some stranger attempted to sell you something. Your attire was truly the work of a genius.

Thus, after consulting with your boss how many vacation days you had left for the rest of the year and checking what on Earth was the carnival about, as well as its location, you gave the Archangel a thumps up and started planning the trip.

“Four days in total, we leave in a night bus on Thursday, we come back to London the same way next Monday. Sounds good?”

“It does seem like a strategy commoner folk would agree on” he cheered. You had him sitting with you on the same side of the kitchen table, and checked websites and maps and schedules, writing everything you thought could be important down. You had wanted his opinion about everything and were determined in having him partake in the planning.

“Y’know? You can just call us people. That’s a word we identify with and it’s not insulting, for a change.”

He had seen you struggle once or twice. According to the village’s city hall’s webpage where the carnival was going to celebrate, the event was financed by the government to attract people towards the countryside and encourage them to do some rural tourism away from the main cities. All that meant that there were a lot of brand-new B&B businesses flourishing in the village in question, and none of them had rooms available anymore.

In the end, you had to make a dreadful phone call to the oldest hostel in there because you couldn’t find their web of email address -if it had any- in order to book a room for two. Instead of waiting for more details, clarifications and questions, the guy at the other side of the phone just wrote down your information, the dates you’d be going and hung on you without even saying goodbye.

It rubbed you the wrong way, you see. “I’m not sure this hostel is going to be very... good. It is cheap, within the budget we have and the only place that seems to have rooms available, but I don’t know. The service doesn’t seem so great this far, and he didn’t even let me ask if they included breakfast or any other meal with the actual price.”

Gabriel patted your back reassuringly, a confident smile on his face. “I’m certain it’ll turn out to be a nice place for us.”

“Did you just hear anything I said? We’ll be lucky if they don’t kidnap us or steal our organs while we sleep”

“I wouldn’t worry to much about it; I have a good feeling about it.” The way he said it made you think he was planning something shady, but, unless he intended to buy the whole village using his magical money tree, you had no clue about what.

“You sound like a mafia boss when you talk like that.”

In the end, the only crappy thing wasn’t just the hostel. It was Thursday, you had worked a full shift in the restaurant, and it had rained the whole day, dampening -pun not intended- your mood. You were not looking forwards six hours inside a bus, sleeping all cramped up and probably freezing your ass out.

Gabriel, on the other hand, was so excited it physically hurt to look at him.

You ended up packing in bags instead of suitcases, to the Archangel’s chagrin -they were not stylish at all, and who dared to go around carrying those things without having their face falling off in shame?-, and made it to the bus station on time.

The bus itself was terrible, smelt like junky gasoline and didn’t have a bathroom -which could count as a win under these circumstances. You had forgotten to bring a blanket, and almost kissed Gabriel when he saw you shiver -for the driver had to blast the AC even if the sky was pouring down and threatening to sink all London in the underground- and extracted on of the thick, fluffy duvets you shared for the couch from his bag.

“You’re a genius, thanks.”

He helped put it around you while you fought your seat but turns out you couldn’t recline it either. It had an ugly, faded patter, the fabric scratched your skin and stank like old barf someone had tried to clean without much success. Despite all this, Gabriel and his cleaning kink were unaffected. He nodded at you. “I always come prepared.”

“Yeah, yeah, I haven’t forgotten you’re perfect. How could I, if you never stop reminding me.”

“Valuable knowledge should always be shared.”

“Hmm. Oh, woe is us, foolish mortals, who don’t deserve your presence among us.”

Three hours later, you were absolutely snuggled against the Archangel, fast asleep. His arm was a nice pillow, his legs offered room to put yours on and he was _warm._ The best part? While he was totally asleep, too, he didn’t snore, kick or drool; he stayed still as a statue, only occasionally babbling some words, and shared the blanket with you without tugging on it once.

Gabriel knew your patience was running thin about the trip, even if the waves of emotion were always sprinkled with eagerness when you talked about it with him. He was sure it was your job, or someone at it, the one to blame for the bad humour you were in when you returned to the flat every day.

Things always turned out for the good, in the end, and he had hope.

Did he actually plan the goose attaching you? No, no he didn’t; but it proved to be for the best in his favour. Of course, you had never been in any real danger, and the emotions coming from you were more wary than scared. He had been there, too, and clearly something as inconsequential as a bird couldn’t match him in any way, but it had been interesting seeing you resort to him when you thought you were at risk. It showed how much you trusted him in the real world, beyond words and your actions with Aziraphale and Crowley.

Gabriel knew you were on his side, but if God was always testing him, why couldn’t he test you a bit, too? It was cute how you clung to him, alright?

He had been excited about the carnival, in all honesty, and had been delighted when you had agreed to go. The Archangel didn’t feel like thinking about your reaction to the pillow he had made with his own feathers -no, no; we’re not going there-, but he knew you used it daily just by the pinch of Heaven that accompanied you every morning. It disappeared during the day, rather quickly, because your body wasn’t meant to hold any kind of holiness, but the usage of the pillow gave the apartment another familiar, reassuring feeling now that it had accomplished its intended purpose.

There was something particular with angels and intention, you see.

Because Gabriel intended to have a good weekend, free of incommodities. And, following that lead, the cruddy hostel you thought you had booked happened to be a small cottage just on the outside of the village, and the rude receptionist, the politest, cleanest person in the area.

You were truly surprised, for once for the best, as you dropped your bag in the reception to talk to the man, Gabriel following you like a shadow but being too busy gapping and awing at everything. “Uhh, hi? I booked a room for two about a week ago?”

The man inspected you and then nodded, pointing at the list, when you gave him your name out of nervousness before he could get a chance to ask for it. “Ah, yes. Here it is. You booked three nights, am I right?”

“Yeah, that’s us.”

He handled you the keys and pointed at the wooden stairs. “Second floor up those, first room on the right. All rooms have a fully equipped bathroom, and breakfast it’s from eight to ten every morning, on the house. Have a nice stay.”

Oh, so Gabriel had been right. The hostel was way, _way_ better than it appeared after the first impression you had gotten from it. That was actually pretty neat. “Uh, thanks. Gabe, you coming? It’s up there, let’s go.”

The stairs creaked on you way up, and you had to give the keys to Gabriel so he could open the door after you couldn’t make the lock budge because of how rusty it was. Your roommate snapped his wrist to the side and unlocked it by sheer force. You flinched, entering the room but stopping to check the lock, just in case. The mechanism didn’t sound nor look like it was broken, and you hoped no one would charge you for it.

The bedroom was fairly okay: big enough for two people, with flowery but light curtains, welcoming wooden walls and a clean bathroom with a nice bathtub and some neutral decorations. The blankets on the bed seemed thick enough to help a sphinx cat survive in the North pole while sweating.

Gabriel dropped his bag on the mattress and started unpacking right away, not caring for a second about the sleeping arrangements, humming an out-of-tune song. You stood there, looking at the bed and trying you fucking hardest not to roll you eyes at the offending furniture.

...It had to be fate.

Either that or someone upstairs hated your sorry ass for something you hadn’t done yet.

“Huh, I didn’t know if they would give us two twin beds or a big one like this. The blankets are high quality, too.” He clicked his tongue, pleased, feeling the fabric. It had some curls, like it was made out of wool, and the texture was unbelievably soft. You blinked at him, and he seemed noticeably untroubled by the situation. He smiled up at you, and then went to take in the views through the window. “Aren’t we lucky?”

You waited a heartbeat, still indecisive, and then dropped you bag too and unpacked, still shaking you head. “You don’t seem too bothered by it.”

He shrugged, satisfied with the small break and the vibrant green meadows that could be seen beyond the glass, folding some neatly unwrinkled turtlenecks out of his _very_ wrinkled bag. You had tried to tell him that it was going to be a dirty trip in the middle of the countryside and that luxurious clothing, no matter how well he liked it, would not do anyone no favours, but he didn’t listen to you. Did he ever, when it came down to his clothing? Not really.

“How many times have we slept together now? We just shared one seat for the last six hours. And I’ve heard the night here is remarkably cold, so this arrangement _is_ better than two separated beds.”

You hummed, nursing that thought, and in the end came to terms with it. Gabriel was kind of right, after all, and it’s not like you could find any free room in the village now, if you wanted to leave the hostel. You sighed, wishing you had brought thicker pyjamas and your furry Grinch socks.“... I do get cold when I sleep.”

“I know, your feet turn into icicles. You could use them as weapon in the next war.”

“Hush now, no one asked for your input here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmmm......
> 
> In all honesty, you guys know I don't have an actual updating schedule so let me ask you this:
> 
> Do you prefer me updating weekly (if it's possible) or as soon as I can? Please let me know so we can organize this a bit or enjoy the havoc.
> 
> See you in the next uptade!


	14. Out In The Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The carnival, the fluff.
> 
> ...Enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LISTEN TO ME
> 
> Y'ALL BETTER SIT DOWN TO READ THIS BEAST BECAUSE THERE ARE A COUPLE OF REASONS THAT ARE IMPORTANT TO ME:
> 
> 1)I've been writting this bitch for almost a week, and I mean at least three hours a day. THIS IS A LONG CHAPTER. I'm talking ALMOST 12K WORDS KIND OF LONG.
> 
> 2)I love you all, and I wrote a lot of fluff, and I really want you to enjoy it. I did squeal a lot, adn went over to the fluff parts more than trice to check that everything is in its rightful place. It makes me so happy that you people are enjoying this fic as much as I do. It's really heratwarming and I'll have you know I read all your comments (YEAH BABY, FROM CHAPTER ONE TO THIS DATE) whenever I'm feeling down or uninspired. Your supports helps me so, SO much <3
> 
> [SPECIAL THANKS TO Yass_Rani FOR LETTING ME KNOW AO3 CHANGED THE CHAPTERS BECAUSE I DIDN'T KNOW IT HAD HAPPENED. THE NEW EDIT IS FROM 02/04/2020]

You were beat, incredibly tired by the night in the bus and the week of work. At you side, Gabriel seemed like someone had charged his batteries with uranium and he was itching to get on the move and learn all he could about this so-called ‘carnival’ and its interests. Don’t get it wrong, you absolutely loved carnivals, and the moment you got a short powernap you’d get enough energy to prove it to the gods.

Gabriel had other plans.

“What are you doing there, laying on the bed?” He had his coat on already and looked at you impatiently. You rubbed you face against the cushions on the bed, kicking your shoes off and missing dreadfully your pillow, and groaned at him. Gabriel gave you the look kindergarten teachers used to reign over the toddlers and clapped his hands. “You sound like a cow. Get up.”

You flipped him the bird, your voice muted by the pillows. “The carnival doesn’t start till tomorrow. They’re probably still building it. Where’s the fire.”

Gabriel turned around quickly, scanning the room. You opened your eyes at the noise he was making and giggled. “There’s not a fire in here, what do you- Oh. An idiom.”

“Pfft” you hid your face again, knowing he’d throw a fit if you laughed at him now. You had claimed the left side of the bed, full-on embracing the sea star position, and snuggled deeper in the thick wool blankets. Gabriel rolled his eyes and sat at the head of the bed, on the other side, and pinched your side. You whined and swatted at him. “No! Stop that. Everything hurts, lemme’ sleep.”

“You slept the whole way here, any more hours an you’ll turn into a marmot.”

“That was not quality sleep and you _know_ it; my body was twisted like a knot on those cheap ass seats.”

“Your body” deadpanned Gabriel, “was sprawled all over me like a manta ray that had given up on life. You have no excuse.”

You whined again and tried to negotiate. “One hour and we’ll go explore the town, deal?”

In the end -that is, you wrestled Gabriel for your right to snooze and _somehow_ won-, the moment you actually got your posture just right and were ready to close your eyes and let sleep claim you, you realised you couldn’t. You weren’t comfortable at all. You groaned and got up, and went to use the bathroom, now incredibly moody. Life had betrayed you, the _bitch_.

Gabriel inspected you with his purple eyes from the other side of the bed, already holding a book in his hands to wait the aforementioned hour of granted neutrality. “What is it now? Didn’t you intend to sleep?”

You sat, pouting, and put your boots on, in hindsight of the mud that would be covering every street on the tiny rural village. It would be an idyllic scenery in spring and early summer, with the green trees and the fields surrounding the houses covered in a blanket of flowers, but now, when summer was ending, all you could see was dry plants and wet puddles left by a short storm that came that very morning. You clicked your tongue: “I wanted to, but I can’t. These pillows suck big deal and I’ve got used to mine, and I miss it.”

“...Oh” choked your roomie, closing his book with too much impetus. You raised a brow at him, and he turned his eyes away, face brightly red.

“G, what the-?”

“Well, since you’re not resting, it seems we can go now, am I correct?” and he stormed out of the door, steps wide and shoulders squared like the Devil himself was hunting his ass down. Oh, but you had seen him! You smiled to yourself, feeling like the Grinch on a terrible Christmas morning. Yeah, you didn’t know what was going on with that pillow of his and why you mentioning how much you liked it made him blush like a schoolgirl, but, oh, were you enjoying it. “What are you stalling for? I said... Stop giving me that look; I don’t know what you’re thinking but it’s probably highly inappropriate.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about” you sang, full of yourself, as you followed him outside.

* * *

The tiny hostel was outside the actual village, five minutes by foot through a dirty path covered in weed on its margins and cow footprints on the moisty ground. It was interesting, seeing such a contrast of colours.

You, armed and protected with your mighty rain boots, decided to step on every puddle you could find, while Gabriel kept himself on the dry patches and jumped over the soiled areas, very aware of his pretty shoes and with a tested frown on his face at all the nasty possibilities.

You considered hoping on a puddle right by his side and splashing him all over, but Gabriel was really mindful of his clothes all the time and you knew if you dirtied them on purpose, he would have your head. You weren’t fit enough to outrun an enraged Gabriel just yet.

Gabriel watched you stomp and follow a little path carved in the ground by some hooves, grinning to yourself. You were tired, and it showed clearly on your face, with the paleness emphasising in obvious contrast the dark colour under your eyes; and you looked so small despite all the layers you had covered yourself with -he could see at least two hoods protruding from the back of your collar and your torso was like a puffy ball. Yet you were enjoying yourself so much, emitting happy waves as if you were a radiator; Gabriel couldn’t but smile, smitten again with how easy was to satisfy a human.

He was still wondering if that was an advantage or a weak point and hadn’t decided yet. Was it better, because that made humankind pliable and easily manipulated? Or was it actually following God’s intentions, making the basic need that sentient creatures had to find a motivation to survive the most approachable one? Your species required food, water and shelter, and if those couldn’t be found, humans would search for them; but, if you could find happiness anywhere, just in the small things like puddles of water and muck left by a summer storm...

The village was surrounded by a short-in-height but sturdy wall of stones and moss, with a lot of lichen to keep it together; the houses, all small and rough like compacted bricks, were arranged in a circle around the bare plaza, where only a deformed statue carved in granite stood in solitude. Patches of grass sprouted from the ground here and there, and some of them had tiny yellow flowers.

Of course, you couldn’t miss the swarming businesses that surrounded the square, all with their plastic chairs occupied with the asses of the people that had stolen the B&B rooms from you. As you had suspected, they were all young people, teens and college students that hoped for a weekend away from the city and the daily life responsibilities. The government did plan for the carnival to be focused on families with young children, but they were delusional at best; what kind of family that could afford having children these days would go to a village in the middle of nowhere when they could just pay to go to a regular amusement park? They spared themselves the mud, the unpredictable weather and, if the season was right, the wasps.

Gabriel hummed, blinking at the crowded bars. The building surrounding the plaza had been constructed in the shape of an archery, and in every niche was a different bar. You had regular lame bars, some pubs, good ol’ restaurants, and some exotic and fast food establishments, all of them merged in one dense pack of tourists consuming alcohol and appetizers and filling the space with noise. The owners of the shops -old people, you presumed, with how unkempt the tables and chairs looked- were probably in their kitchens, yelling at the cooks and the forever waiter that had been serving there as he only staff member for the last forty years, and rubbing their greedy paws at the money they were going to make this weekend.

That is to say, there was no place to sit anywhere.

“They are hungry this early? How is it possible? It’s ten in the morning” was your roommate’s only comment, staring in confusion at the nature documentary unfolding before his eyes. 

“They probably drove from London really early in the morning, raced each other and forgot to eat breakfast in their haste” you shrugged, pulling his coat’s sleeve to get him walking.

“Buy why the alcohol? It’s not even midday.”

“Because this town has like twenty houses in total, which means, by the number of heads I can see from here-”

“You can see anything from down there?”

“Hah-ha, very funny. Tyrion Lannister would piss on your grave. As I was _saying_ -”

“Who is that Tyrion person and why would they do something so disgusting?”

You turned to look at him, mouth agape. “You don’t know who-? Of course you don’t, what was I thinking. Whelp, that means we have something to do from now on; I’m making you binge watch Game of Thrones with me, and it’s unnegotiable, so don’t even try. Now, as I was saying” you proceeded for the third time, crossing the square, “these people are hogging all the good B&B places _we_ were going to stay at, and if they are here it means the carnival is still being assembled.”

Gabriel perked up at that, and had he been a dog his ears would be pointing straight at the sky. “Oh, is there a chance we can go see it? It’d be so interesting to watch the labourers work.”

You grinned, watching your steps on the cobblestone that covered the ground as not to twist an ankle. “Where do you think I’m taking you, Big Guy?”

Gabriel beamed. “Wonderful.”

You had to cross the other half-circle that was the village -you stopped to coo at some stray cats and one allowed you to play with it and a long string of grass for like two minutes, which made your day _so much better_ -, and there, about twice the distance your hostel was on the opposite direction, you discerned the colourful towers lifting the rails for a big, curly rollercoaster.

You ushered Gabriel, tugging on his hands, and it was hilarious to see him let you manhandle him like that -his words, not yours-, avoiding the mud puddles on the ground using his long legs to jump over them. You ran through them, not a care in the world, sploshing around and marking the imprint of your studded soles on any area soft enough on the ground.

There was a huge entrance, with gigantic lettering, announcing that there was, in fact, a carnival there. Probably for poor people who couldn’t use their eyes to look at the obvious attractions. But, then, how would they see the sign anyway? The government didn’t really plan this through, now did they? This had leaks all over.

The whole place was surrounded by a colourful fence constructed with painted pillars, some carved-in-wood animal and cartoon decorations -Gabriel’s eyes went wide when he saw the tropical fishes smiling with human teeth, and you knew he was going to have nightmares tonight by the look in his face. There were Christmas lights all over, and they had secured the area with a strong, metal net decorated with a placard that said it was electrified. Someone had put stickers on that poster too, in a futile effort to make it child friendly.

“Do you see anything you like from here? We can try and think of an itinerary; or we can just go with our guts and ride whatever. Oh, look there!” You pointed at some booths with a lot of toys and plushies. “They have games here, too. I bet they’re all rigged.”

Gabriel gawked at the rollercoaster, blinking at the loops and the sharp drops. “What is that for? It looks like the skeleton of some structure... Are they going to cover it with some kind of fabric, like a circus tent of sorts?”

“Nah, man. Looks how it’s supposed to. They have these tiny wagons inside, and you ride them on the rails.”

“But there are areas where your body is upside down! And the inclination of that section probably breaks all the security’s protocols meant for railways!”

You gave him a look that belonged in the face of a maniac, and Gabriel swallowed. “ _Yeah, it’s going to be awesome._ ”

He let out an unbelieving huff, frowning at the ride in question again. It was truly a tall construction, significantly bigger than your building’s height back in London. How did creatures that were meant to keep their feet on the ground invent so many ways to launch themselves into the air? What was their fascination, where was the appeal?

“Do you like those?”

“It’s like flying.”

Oh.

That.

Humans had a mindless obsession with flying. No matter how hard Heaven tried to erase the idea off their minds, it just kept returning, influenced by the presence of birds on Earth, until, one day, they started building planes and gliding over the slope of hills and then it was too late to stop that particular wheel. It had all started when an angel had been seen, centuries before the Flood, going around doing their own thing. Back then, maintaining one’s sacred origin was not that imperative, but then the humans started demanding wings from God so they could fly too; and, well, long story short, the angel was launched down to Hell for tempting the humans and all the witnesses were turned blind by Uriel and their crew.

The moral of the story? Do not cast pearls before swine.

Yet, after all the consequences Heaven procured and all the physical impediments a human body represented, Gabriel could see in your eyes the same impulse that has always driven humanity. Now, you had planes -both big and small-, drones, aerostatic balloons, canopies for paragliding, and even some weird people who got a parachute and a big-ass fan and threw themselves to the sky. Humanity could not be contained within the limits of its own mortality.

Gabriel looked back up, to a very tight loop you were inspecting and, regardless of all his beautiful and philosophic thinking, his stomach knotted. He was used to flying, he had _three_ pairs of wings and he knew how to use them all; but, trusting a human’s construction that was meant to propel him in a carriage at who knows what speed through the path he was looking at right now? That was another thing altogether. Gabriel was an Archangel, thus, very few things could actually hurt him, but he was certain getting squashed into the ground like a pancake could be one of those.

“What do you think? You’re gonna ride with me?”

Gabriel clicked his tongue, eyebrows raised in bewilderment at your boldness. You were as close to the fence as it would allow, keeping your hands to yourself but it being obvious that you wanted to grasp it to get an even closer look. Your eyes were big and excited, and even if Gabriel wasn’t an angel with the power to perceive emotions, he could have told you were looking forwards to the next day. You had a huge, hopeful smile on.

“How fast does it go?”

You smiled even more widely, knowing you had him wrapped around your little finger, and checked the rollercoaster again, carefully following the path the carts would take. “Judging by the length, not even ten seconds. This is a tiny one; they’ll have to take it apart when the carnival is over and rebuild it back up again somewhere else, and they wouldn’t be able to do it with a big one.”

“This is small? I’d say it sits above the church’s bell tower back in the village.”

“There’s this place at the outsides of the city, back in my country, where they built an amusement park. You know, the permanent version of this thing” you waved at the carnival. “They have this huge rollercoaster, called the Abysm, and it’s my favourite ever. It lasts fifteen seconds but only because it’s so, so long! You see, you start getting inside the wagon, and it holds you by your waist, not your shoulders, with only one bar. The first time I rode it I totally believed I was going to fall off and die! Then, it whirs like it’s gonna explode and launches you up in a straight line, ninety degrees in the sky. Many people are crying by this time. _Then,_ the rail has this curve, another ninety degrees, and it keeps you upside down for the longest three seconds...!”

You gestured with your hands wildly, and Gabriel listened to your tale cautiously, as you two circled the fence that surrounded the enclosure. You pointed at many rides, and explained to him what they did, and then you spied on the booths, already complaining about how hard it would be to get the prizes.

“You are saying that they are a fraud, and everyone is aware of it yet there’s no action to stop them from tricking you into playing?”

“Yes? It’s just the usual thing, I’ve seen it everywhere; the fun part is destroying the system, you know? Beating them at their own game. Then, when you win, it’s even sweeter. And you get a big plushie as proof!”

* * *

Gabriel had hoped -he was good at that- the trip would cheer you up from the problems you had in your work life. He knew the root of your distress came from there, and he was itching to find a way to fix it. But, for now, the carnival would suffice.

He had learned a lot that day, both about you and about human communication and social behaviours. You see, you never drank big quantities of alcohol around him, a beer sometimes, or you’d make yourself a fancy cocktail just to play with the tiny paper umbrella from the box you had bought months ago because you had found it funny. In this village, however, was a remarkable crowd of young individuals whose only purpose was to get as intoxicated as they could without falling unconscious in the shortest time possible. It had been lunch time when you had returned from your exploratory trip at the carnival installations and the square had turned into a pool party, with foam and everything.

“These kids are wild!” you shouted, grabbing him and heading to one of the fast food carts. Chances were, witnessing the havoc in the plaza, that every serious business with a local owner had already closed to avoid property damage.

“It’s not even two in the afternoon? Is this a common phenomenon among young folk?”

You laughed, pushing some teens away who tried to drown each other in spiked coke. “You kidding? There’s like no actual adults around except for the villagers! The government was asking for trouble when they decided on this kind of set up!”

Someone howled their approval at your statement, you didn’t know who, and soon enough you had a small crew of drunk people yowling and chanting ‘the government asked for this!’ with their glasses up in the air and spilling beer on everyone. Damn, drunk people were supportive when they were not being assholes or driving cars or trying to get you killed.

“You have fans now” was all Gabriel said, still processing what was happening around him, in utter bafflement.

“What can I say? I’m a sensation.” You pulled his arm again, closing the gape between your bodies to stop any cheeky kid from separating you. You had already seen some who had a hungry glaze directed towards Gabriel’s ass. Who could blame them? Even with a coat on, it was just sinful. “There! Let’s just get our food and go back to the hostel. We’ll eat more calmly there.”

* * *

The rest of the afternoon was nice. The weather was humid but not too cold, and, while the wi-fi sucked big time, you found a deck of cards and taught Gabriel how to play a few games while you left his tablet to load some Game of Thrones episodes.

You mentioned getting ready for dinner when you heard a knock at the door. You raised an eyebrow and went to look who could be at this hour, just when you were preparing to go out to get something to eat.

“Room service!” chimed the same guy that worked at the desk. He had some casual clothes on, and some bags in his hands.

“Sorry, we didn’t call any room service. I was unaware there was one in the hostel? Isn’t that a hotel thingy-?”

“Yes, well” cut you the man, handling you the bags. You took them clumsily, not expecting him to just shove them at you. “The cook here is really excited at all the people he has to feed now, right? And he’s so nervous he had to ‘practice’ for breakfast, don’t ask. Point is, I’ve eaten my share and now I’m giving the rest to the guest in the hostel. So, here you go! Free food. Have a good night.”

And he closed your door himself. You stood there, looking at the wooden plank, not knowing what had just happened. You heard the shower go off and called for Gabriel. “Gaby! Guess what? We have dinner now!”

It took him a couple of minutes to emerge from the bathroom, a cloud of hot steam following him outside, fully clad in his pyjamas. You wondered how he didn’t stab himself to death while he slept. The shirt had so many buttons a hamster could use it as a ladder.

“We have dinner, you said?” For some reason, the unsurprised look in his face -rather smug and satisfied, instead-, made you suspicious. “How fortunate, what is it? Have you opened it?”

“No. Not yet. Here, have at it; I’m gonna change into my pj’s and then we can have dinner.”

“Where? There’s not a table in this room we could use to eat.”

“Gosh, G; we’re gonna eat on the bed.”

“Absolutely not” he deadpanned. “I don’t know about you, but I do not consider myself a savage.”

“Wanna’ bet?”

Of course, you were right. Gabriel complained about the crumbs for a while, but then you started ignoring him and focused on the episode playing on his tablet and he shut up and surrendered like any reasonable person. Your suspicions kept rising, however, seen that the provided meal was not something fast and easy -the typical eggs, beans, bacon and toasts you could find at any grotty dump- but something a bit more elaborate. A tasty soup, some cereal bread, and a bunch of fruits in perfect condition.

You found it strange, you see. Gabriel was still really picky with his food, which meant that some textures, heavy meals or unhealthy ingredients would make him refuse to eat altogether. This dinner, on the other hand, was exactly what you would have cooked at home.

The thought of Gabriel buying the hostel to reform it to his taste -which would give him the power to choose the menus- was getting less and less absurd by the second. It was not beyond him, and you were aware of the need of control he showed sometimes -his general attitude when in front of Crowley and Aziraphale, military, tense and with a fake easy-going vibe that convinced no one, was the proof of it.

And then, you got distracted by the wolves on the screen.

You watched a total of two episodes before getting too parky to survive on top of the blankets, so it was decided to clean up a bit -Gabriel insisted of shaking the top layer outside the window to get rid of the crumbs, which was both a good and a terrible idea, because now the room was cleaner but significantly colder than before.

Your sides on the bed had already been decided, and you laid there, the grimace in your face hidden in the dark environment and missing your pillow like a fiancé dead in the war. You thought you’d have some concerns sharing the bed, but Gabriel had been right all along: you have been living together for more than six months now, and fell asleep on the couch uncountable times, this wasn’t any different. Also, you were freezing, and his body was a freaking stove. You curled in a fetal position, back towards him, and rubbed you hands like a fly to try and gain some warm.

Gabriel sensed your movement, realised you were awake and spoke up, mind working a mile per hour despite the late time. It had been a very interesting day and now he was too hyped to sleep. “Do you remember that video we watched some days ago, about cryptids? I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed you’re into cryptids lately” you laughed, shaking your head and burying you hands under the pillow to warm them up.

“YouTube makes strange suggestions, that is not on me” he protested, huffing. “Yet, this stubborn thought came to me, and I can’t let go of it until I find an answer. It’s incredibly frustrating, and I thought you’d have a better expertise in the matter than I do.”

“Shoot.”

“If you shave Big Foot’s hair, does it turn into Mr. Clean?”

You snapped your eyes open, glaring at the wall in front of you in the silent night. Gabriel’s words hung in the hair like a curse, and he waited patiently for you to reply. A minute passed and you turned your body to look at him, a heavy frown set in your face. He met you with his curious eyes glinting in the dark.

“Gabriel, you are the core reason for my anxiety. We are never talking about this ever again. Go the _fuck_ to sleep.”

* * *

Gabriel had been waking up at the same hour since he arrived on Earth, and never once used those popular ‘alarms’ that phones provided. He was productive like that. It wasn’t because of his body getting used to the early hour, but because his angelic matter was always aware of what he required. It was useful, specially when he wanted to go jogging like every morning. Of course, being out of London was no excuse to discontinue his routine, and he had found some routes yesterday that would suit his hobby without smouldering himself in mud.

This particular morning, however, there was an impediment.

Gabriel woke up warmer than usual, and he firstly assumed it was due to sharing a bed -a reasonable conclusion- until he discovered his right arm tingled in an uncomfortable way. He opened his eyes and found a patch of familiar hair right in front of his nose. Connecting the dots was incredibly easy. His first conclusion? His suspicions about you being a cuddler were now confirmed. 

A short inspection told him you had clamped one of his legs between your own, and you were splayed carelessly on top of his torso, sound asleep, while your tiny hands grasped his pyjamas.

Gabriel sighed, gently prying your fingers from the fabric and pushed your warm away, and you groaned, murmuring something in your language quite demandingly and grabbing onto him again. Another push, another -more heartfelt yet intelligible- protest, and he was out of bed.

You whined, rolling to occupy the spot of heat his body had left on the mattress and squinted open an angry, sleepy eye at him. You said something _again,_ and Gabriel was sure it still wasn’t English. “You know I can’t understand you, right?”

You scoffed and patted the mattress, clearing your throat. “Where are you going? Come back to bed.”

Gabriel looked at the window and the still dark outside, and then at your squished face and your lax posture, body lost between the folds of the blankets. You patted the bed again and he shook his head. “It’s already six, the best time to go jogging.”

You processed his words for a second, mind slow due to the early hour, and let out an outraged gasp, not even in a theatrical way. “You woke me up at six in the fucking morning? I should kill you for that.” You made an exasperated sound with your throat, bundling the blankets around you, your feet already freezing. “Get you ass back in here _now,_ it’s cold.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes at you, paying your anger no attention, and headed to the closet to get his clothes. You were always unreasonable when tired, like a child, and he had experience handling you, yet he still tried to clarify his point, hoping in vain your attitude would change. “At this time, I can get two good hours of exercise and then return in time for breakfast. Six in the morning is an excellent hour, there’s no need to maim me over it.”

“ _Gaby!_ ” you whined once more, pouting with all your might. It seemed to catch his attention, and he looked at you with surprised eyes, wondering why you would be so adamant about him staying in bed. “One hour here, another for jogging. We’re going to spend the whole day out! You’ll get your exercise anyway. Come to bed.”

In the end, he obliged. He wondered if there was another purpose behind your words, perhaps, but could not think of anything that your dozy mind could come up with at the time. Dropping his clothes back again in the closet with a frustrated clicking of tongue, the Archangel picked his tablet, knowing he couldn’t be able to go back to sleep now that he was up.

“One hour is all I’m giving.”

You nodded, scooting over to the right to let him get under the blankets and then immediately latched his leg again, burying you head in his lap and sighing in content. How could he be so deliciously warm, you didn’t understand, but now was not the time to look a gift horse in the mouth. England’s weather was cold as balls, what the Hell! August had no business being this unwelcoming. You felt your roommate’s body tense up for a split moment, and then he sighed and surrendered, lifting the blanket to cover your shoulder, which had been revealed to the freezing air with the movement.

Gabriel wondered what to do with his hands, one of them holding his tablet. You were there, already settled and breathing softly in that dozing state so characteristic of the early morning. After a bit of unsure pondering, he finally posed the free hand on your back, in the hollow space your shoulder blades created, not even bothering to fight your clinginess. You hummed and nuzzled his thigh, emanating slow yet happy waves.

The Archangel found it peculiar. Now more interested in you than his technological device, he tested the waters, rising his hand on your back, through you neck, and brushing your hair. You left a soft thrum out, your body shivering with a bright spark of satisfaction.

Huh.

...

He did it again, this time scratching your head slightly through the locks of hair. You were really responsive, were you not? You made a throaty sound and exhaled through your nose, and he felt your body melt. The waves of happiness were raw and strong, interlocked with calmness and content. Not a whiff of stress or any other emotion anywhere.

Gabriel kept his good work for the rest of the hour, occasionally petting, then scratching, then brushing your hair again. At some point, his explorations went downwards, on your back, and remembered some massaging videos he had watched months prior, when he had been trying to learn about human anatomy to try and explain the malfunctions his body showed.

...Would you like that, too?

He kneaded your muscles, now understanding what the person had meant when he talked about knots and they pain they caused, and you made _very_ interesting sounds. A strange, fluttering sensation settled into his stomach at them, and he did his best to pay no attention to it, more focused on how your body moved despite your sleepy state.

His phone did chime at seven, and you let him go with a pitiful whine and some babbling, hugging his pillow to you in replacement of his body when your sad eyes couldn’t convince him to forget about his routine and stay exactly where he was.

As he had predicted, the weather was fresh, slightly humid, and perfect for running. The problem here, now, was not the weather. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the route he was following and the puddles on the wet ground, his jogging session was less intense than usual, all because he couldn’t get out of his mind your sounds and the heavy sensation they had given him.

* * *

When Gabriel returned to the room, the lower part of his sweatpants moist with dew and his sneakers positively filthy, you had already showered. He found you still under the blankets but already dressed up, the familiar shape of his stolen sweater poking out of the woolly bundle. You looked very comfortable there, nested in the centre of the bed, reigning over an army of pillows.

He picked his clothes, and you offered to clean his shoes off mud with a rough brush you had found in a corner of the bathroom, insisting that his snobby businessman brogues would do him no favours in the carnival. “It’s painful to see this expensive stuff dirty just because you’re stubborn as a mule.”

“Those don’t combine with the jumpers.”

“Then put on a sweater. The rides are going to be yucky too. Do you know how many people use them during the day? It’s better to ruin some clothes that are easy to replace instead of the nice ones.”

“All my clothing is nice” he protested, indignant at your lack of care.

You rolled you eyes and hurried him to the bathroom, telling him again breakfast time was about to start. “Just remind me we need to get you some jeans once we return to London, that way you can go around incognito without having the drivers turning their heads at you. Pretending to dress like Benedict Cumberbatch will do you no favours here in the middle of nowhere.”

You heard him grunt about not knowing who that Cucumber Man was and why on Earth would he imitate his style. Huffing a laugh, you organized the room a bit more, opening the window to freshen up the atmosphere. The internet -always reliable- said the sun would be up and shining soon enough, not a single trace of rain for the next days, and you cheered at the day ahead of you.

As you had expected, Gabriel appreciated his shoes far more than he cared for his sneakers, and you went to eat downstairs, waving good morning to the strange man that guarded the reception desk. You tried not to talk much with him, weirded out at his general attitude, but Gabriel had different plans, as he was feeling excited and chatty. After a minute of silence while the two of them babbled about something you didn’t care for -turns out the weird man was a jogger too-, you left their side to find a table for two and inspect the menu the hostel offered for breakfast.

Confirming your suspicions, every meal available was something Gabriel’s picky taste would approve of. There were some heavy options, too, like the classical English breakfast; yet, the variety of oatmeal, fruits, marmalades and toasts -Gabriel was an ardent fan of brown bread with blueberry jam- told you the story of a rich bitch that now owned a tiny hostel lost in the countryside.

Of course, you knew your conspiracy theories were quite exaggerated, but you had to kill the time somehow, feeling it was rude to start your breakfast without your roomie. 

Gabriel awed in delight at the menu, and then glared at you like you were a bank robber when you saved some had-made sandwiches and fruit pieces in some napkins. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Is that a trick question?” you replied, puzzled, and showed him the napkin. “I’m getting us lunch. What do you think they’ll sell at the carnival, big guy? Caviar? The food will be nasty, half of it probably plastic, and we both know you won’t eat a hotdog even if a terrorist held you at gunpoint.” 

“You’re stealing, however. That is _wrong_.”

“Yes, you’re right, but it’s even worse that they sell their fast food ten pounds a ‘dog. Would you buy that? Would you get one of their margarita pizza slices, knowing the cheese is melted rubber, and pay them with both your kidneys?”

He blinked in disgust, making a yucky face at the thought. “Almighty, no.”

“Then, I’ve made my point.” You hummed at him, his eyes still looking regretfully at the napkins and mumbled something about how you got free dinner the previous night thanks to the strange desk man. “Alright, hear me out. I _will_ be taking this, because we both know nutrition is important -yes, I now care about nutrition, this is your doing, shut up- and, if I’m wrong and they do sell decent food at he carnival, I’ll buy desk guy dinner in compensation, how’s about that?”

He tapped the table, looking at the tempting brown bread and thinking about the nasty food you had just described. Just imagining having to consume those revolting products made his stomach churn and twist. He huffed and gave you a surrendering look. “...Fine. _But_ you’ll also apologize to him.”

You nodded, rolling your eyes. “Whatever you want.”

* * *

You were in line for the carnival soon enough, surrounded by the excited people that had crowded the village’s square moaning their hungover. As usual, you were the one in charge of food and water, as Gabriel was too busy both complaining about wearing the sneakers without the full sporty outfit and basically bothering every group of college students that would make the mistake of paying him any attention.

You let him be, amused at his antics, and had to whistle to get him back to you once you bought the tickets, as he was distracted chatting with a pack of girls. He soon returned to your side, waving them goodbye and attempting to talk now with the teen selling the tickets. “Over here, G, let them do their job.”

“Everyone is so nice here. Those girls, did you know they’re majoring in Anthropology? I find the topic so interesting. They even gave me their phone numbers so I could contact them whenever I have a question about it, so they could help me understand it better.”

You nodded, looking back at the group and how they looked in your direction, half of them squealing and the other half pointing at you. Yeah, they were so nice, were they not? But Gabriel was beaming, looking around at the colours, the lights and the now-in-motion rides; you didn’t feel like bursting his bubble. He was having fun, what was the point in telling him those nice girls actually wanted to make him a saliva suit?

You patted his arm, shrugging. “Yep, it seems everyone is here to party. Hey, remember those rigged games I told you about? People usually leave them for last, when they’re too tired to get on the rides, so the queueing should be short now. Want to try your luck at them?”

“Do I?” he answered, already heading to the first booth.

You never cared much for the games, and preferred to watch the frustration building up as the players failed in their attempts to get the ring around certain bottleneck, or to knock over a tower of stubbies that were clearly stuck together, or to make a balloon explode using a water gun with the pressure of a 1850’s shower.

Gabriel, on the other hand, tried them all once, witnessing first-hand how much of a bullshit business this was. Against all bets, for a guy who was a slut for fair play and the completion of every written rule, he was very sporty about his defeats. When you asked him about it, he just gave you a suspiciously confident smile, and ushered you away of the booths so their runners couldn’t hear you.

“A’ight, big guy. What’s gotten you so pleased about losing every game in the place?”

“I’ve lost this time, yes” he conceded, not bothered by your teasing words. “But now, after experiencing from the source that you were, indeed, right about how rudely adulterated these diversions are, I now have a plan to bring the downfall to their falseness.”

You looked at his proud face, processing his odd phrasing for a second in which English failed to work in your mind. He really didn’t have to say things in such a difficult way. “...You now know how to beat them, is what you’re saying? After one try?”

He bobbed his head up and down twice, incredibly satisfied. “That is precisely what I meant. But now it’s not the time to ridicule them” he reasoned, stopping you from returning back to the stands, “we’ll let them get confident through the day, seeing that no one has been able to win a price this far; then, we’ll strike.”

“You’re evil, man.”

“Ugh, you take that back. I’m serving justice. There are rules and stipulations that are meant to be obeyed when running this kind of business. I’d know, I checked the regulations last night online.” He really shouldn’t be that proud about it, you mussed, smiling at what he thought was a master move. “That’s the reason I played all of the games, to confirm if they followed the byelaws. They don’t, and I know you don’t like to get the proper authorities involved in minor crimes like these, so I’m taking the matters in my own hands. What did you say yesterday, that summed it so perfectly?”

“You’ll be beating them at their own game” you provided, wondering how on Earth could he be so pumped about it. A man that imposing and big shouldn’t be this cute. He gave you a radiant look, outstandingly satisfied with himself.

“ _That’s_ the one. Oh, how greatly accurate. Here, didn’t you say you wanted to go for the rides? I must confess I’ve never gotten in one.”

You wanted to go for the painfully obvious pun - _he’d be in for a ride, oh, boy-_ , but decided to give up and point the way instead, full-on bowing and tracing an elegant curve with your arm towards the noisy path. “Right over there, sir. Do take the lead.”

* * *

Your expertise in the matter showed and shined through the day, knowing perfectly when was the right time to visit certain rides. As you had predicted, most young people, excited to be unsupervised along with their equally irresponsible friends, headed towards the strong rides right away. Those who were hungover were left behind in groups that included at least one caretaker -the chicken that cowered away of anything wilder than the Ferris wheel.

This carnival in particular lacked in water attractions -something normal, considering it was just temporary emplacement and the rain would have ruined them, yet an enormous reason for you to put it in your dreaded black list-, which you considered the softest; that meant you had to handle Gabriel’s tolerance towards the strongest of rides, so you started from the mellow carrousel -aka the Merry-go-Round- and built the way up until lunch time.

Gabriel sat down after hours of walking, thankful to get a break from your excitement. He hadn’t been expecting you to turn into a beast, always cheering and running around to get the best places in every ride. You were very thoughtful of how he was reacting to everything, and he was grateful for it. He, an Archangel used to flying, was most accustomed to the sharp turns and the ups and downs that the ‘weak stuff’ provided, but the teacups and its crazy rotations had bested him, and he had to stop for ten minutes to regain his bearings. You were even more careful after that, if possible.

You sat at his side, rummaging in your bag in search for the napkins with the sandwiches and the water bottles you had packed. “Here. Ah, I don’t know how you managed to find the only clean bench in the whole place, that’s great! You truly do miracles” you laughed.

“Ah, yes, it’s a little talent of mine” he grinned, uncomfortable and glaring at the ground, and quickly changed the subject. “You were right about the food, after all. The things they sell here are undoubtedly filthy.”

“Told ya’. Would I lie to you? You know what, don’t answer that.”

“Oh,” he clicked his tongue in fake irritation, “I was about to mention that time you told me someone had come to the apartment to fix the shower and I ended covered in paint.”

“It was food colouring and that prank was _hilarious._ ” You almost dropped your food trying to cover your mouth and failing miserably. It took you a few second of struggle to regain your breath, snorting through your nose. “And you gave me a doughnut filled with mayonnaise as payback!”

He nodded, pleased and laughing too. “You have the internet community to thank for that.”

You ate the rest of the food, exchanging anecdotes of the pranks you had pulled on each other during those weeks you had refused to talk due to the strong disagreement about his business. He confessed he had replaced all the Oreo’s filling with toothpaste on more than one occasion but felt so bad about it every time that tossed them into the trash before you could taste them, knowing how much you actually liked those snacks.

“Aww, you can’t just do anything evil, now can you, Gaby?”

He blushed, flustered at your cooing. He couldn’t really tell you he was an angel, and that all those gestures that you considered sweet were his default behaviour by nature. “I really try not to.”

Then, his gaze turned to this ride you had refused to mention despite of it being in the middle of the compound, ominously dark. He had been seeing it the whole day, inspecting its gore-y decorations and the grim music the speakers in the area blasted for some kind of creepy effect. It had picked his curiosity, noticing that you wouldn’t go anywhere near it.

“Hmm, whatcha’ looking at-? Oh, there” you said, voice now sour and tight.

“You’ve been avoiding that ride quite obviously” he commented, suddenly very interested. “What does it do? It has the appearance of an exhibit of sorts; it can’t be a rollercoaster, based on the design, so perhaps a thematic ride?”

“...A haunted house, if you must know.”

“What does it do? Is it actually haunted?” Gabriel asked, “how did the government get a ghost to work for them? Did they _trap_ them inside?”

“There’s no ghost in there. The British had decided that having their haunted houses based on murderers instead of ghosts was better. The technical name is horror house, and it’s meant to scare the living shit out of you.”

“Is it really that unsettling?”

“It does the trick for me, if that’s what you’re asking. Went inside one of those when I was a kid with my dad, and I swore I’d never do it ever again. Then, my friends convinced me to go with them when I was a teen. Big-ass mistake. I screamed so hard I scared one of the actors back.” When you looked back at Gabriel, prying your eyes from the cursed house, you frowned. “Don’t even try it, I’m not going in there.”

“What’s to fear? What could actually scare a human so bad that they’d refuse to enter a place that they _know_ its all pretend?”

“Do you want me to give you examples or just a History book? No, stop looking at me like that, I said no and that’s final.”

“I’ll ride the big rollercoaster with you” he negotiated. “You said it’s always better to do it with someone else. I’ll go with you and, in exchange, you’ll accompany me inside that stupid ride.”

“I didn’t know you were deaf.”

“I certainly am not. Is that a yes?”

“No!”

But Gabriel was relentless. He had known you since he had landed on Earth, and you had offered or accompanied him to experience everything he considered necessary or curious. This was the first time you refused him anything, and he was _dying_ to know what that was and why you were so fearful of it. If you, the most reckless creature he knew, were wary of something, it could be a breakthrough in human behaviour, and he was not letting this opportunity escape.

“We’ll see about that” he answered, sure of what the end results would be. He knew you so well he was sure you’d give in if he gave you enough time to think it through. You glared at him; eyes venomous. “I was saving the games for the last attraction of the day -a big finale-, but if we fool the people running at them now, you’ll get time to consider your options, thus, reaching a well-thought conclusion.”

You were aware of his process of thinking, and that he’d win in the end just because you were unable to tell him ‘no’, specially when he gave you the soft eyes. Cursing yourself and your weakness, you shook your hand at him, shooing his smug face away from yours. “It’s not like you’re going to win all the games anyway.”

“But I intend to” was his only answer, as if it summed it up and fate would bend under his will. It was a very Gabriel thing, talking in facts.

* * *

The Archangel got all his prices, just has he had predicted, leaving everyone at the booths with their mouths hanging open. Under any other circumstances, you’d be his personal cheerleader, but now you followed him towards the lockers at the entrance dragging your feet and glaring knifes at the back of his head. The bitch knew it, and his smugness only grew.

“I’m gracious enough to concede you the first turn” he said, already going to queue at the line of people waiting to ride the rollercoaster, an elegant smile on his face. To you, he looked like a fox, and you wished for a shotgun so you could shoot away his grin.

However, you started feeling bad at the paleness his skin was turning the moment he realised he was going to actually ride that monster. The rollercoaster towered up above, with all its lops and sharp drops, indifferent at the shrieks coming from the people in the wagons. You saw Gabriel visibly swallow at their speed, and he stepped closer to you, probably unconsciously, when he saw some of the teary faces and the abject horror from the people that got down, legs trembling and whole body shaking.

You nudged his side. “Gaby, hey. There’s a cold feet line over there. You _don’t_ have to ride with me.”

He looked up again and then at you, unsure for a moment. “...My feet are fine, thank you.”

“No, I’m saying that you can back off” you insisted, tugging on his hand, and he latched yours like a lifeline. “The cold feet line is for people who don’t actually want to ride but they had been peer-pressured to do so. It’s the last out before you ride the rollercoaster.”

“No, no. It’s quite alright.” Because, for Gabriel’s mind, it was unthinkable that young humans like those in front of him could ride that structure and laugh -quite literally- in the face of Death.

Death, who was a very colourful individual, but lacked the general trait of compassion. He respected their job, really; there were things that needed to be done, and Death was unwavering and merciless. That was good, when it came to dealing with sassy people who thought they knew better than the Horseman; and the Archangel was sure that, if he ended discorporating because of the rollercoaster, skull crashing and exploding against the ground, Death would do their job, too.

An angel couldn’t really die, unless certain circumstances -like Hellfire, or celestial or demonic blades- aligned themselves in just the right way, but Gabriel really didn’t know what could he do or say if he returned to Heaven because a dumb machine had dropped him in the middle of the air.

He could always fly away and burn down the village and everyone in it, claiming it was an accident... Or erase all the witnesses’ memories, which was far less drastic. Would he had to modify your mind, too? It felt wrong, thinking about it, but what if he had no other choice but-

“Last chance, Gaby. You sure you want to do this? I promise I won’t say anything of you leave now.”

Gabriel snapped back to the present, looked at your conjoined hands, and swallowed once more. This time, he was the one tugging you towards the attraction, noticing that - _lucky him_ \- you got to ride at the front of the wagon.

You had said the ride would be around ten seconds, right? Well, those were the most terrifying seconds of Gabriel’s existence. He held you hand the whole trip, mute in his panic, and you had been too stressed for him, worrying he would faint, to enjoy it either. Once it was done, you dragged him to a bench, walking backwards and holding his arms to steady him, and he had crumbled onto you the moment the felt the seat under him.

You petted his head, having him hunched over you, his face at your neck and his hands visibly trembling. Despite all these physical signals, when he spoke, his voice was unwavering and fluid. “... _Never again_.”

“Never again” you promised.

* * *

You both needed a break after all that drama, and it was the turn for the Ferris wheel to shine. It lacked all the romanticism light pollution would contribute with, which meant that not many people were interested in riding it, and you got in soon enough. You had hesitated at first, not sure if the heights would do Gabriel any good, but the Archangel had seen his life pass before his eyes and now he was sure nothing could surprise him anymore.

The carts creaked, the trip was slow but annoyingly noisy and the moment the operator closed the door you both realised you wanted out, glaring at the screeching speaker someone had installed in one the corners blasting terrible carnival music.

Five minutes later, you stood in front of the horror house, where a generous crowd of students had already gathered. You were sort of glad, because their cheering and jokes drowned the high-pitched screams that came from the attraction. From time to time, another funny fuckass would yowl in fake pain during the queueing, and you clung to Gabriel both to stop yourself from bolting away and from grabbing one of the sticks that were part of the decoration to beat the shit out of them jokers.

The line wasn’t very long, but the ride was actually a walk-through, as you had feared, instead of the classical one with wagons. You had hoped to sit and hide inside Gabriel’s coat for the whole trip, and now you were fighting your fight-or-flight response with all your might, so nervous you were sure you were going to puke.

Gabriel stood by your side, silently analysing the house, while you searched for some panicked sympathy among the sea of faces. You found it a few meters ahead; a scrawny kid with red hair whined to their friends, and immediately headed for the cold feet exit, which was rudely decorated with a nasty amount of bloodied chicken toys. What you weren’t expecting was for the door to have sensors, and when the kid crossed all the toys started shrieking and clucking and flapping their plastic wings violently, eyes shining with demonic red LED lights.

“Good Lord” gasped Gabriel, looking at the tear struck face of the kid as they left. His arm grew tighter around you, and you whimpered. “This is even worse than the rollercoaster. We’re leaving.”

“No, no. C’mon, you went through the whole trip during my turn, I’m doing this too. It’s only fair” you stuttered. You saw Gabriel was about to protest your stubbornness and shushed him. “I said I’m doing it, and that’s final, don’t argue with me.”

“I really don’t want you dying from a heart attack.”

“I’m not going to die from a heart attack, G. ....But if you think I’m going to, we make a run for it and fuck the ride and its actors.”

The toy chickens shrieked two more times before the girl at the entrance hurried you inside, her face painted with fake blood and scars and smiling sadistically at your fear. “Enjoy the ride!”

“ _Fuck off._ ”

The story, as you had predicted, was about a wild gang going on a very prolific murder strike in the mansion, leaving it haunted. The narrator also gave the sweet detail of mentioning that the cops weren’t able to catch all the crooks, and that they heavily suspected they now lived with the spirits, unbothered by their shenanigans due to a nice pact they had reached. If they could increase the ghost community, they wouldn’t die. Of course, those were incredibly diplomatic murderers.

Being a foreigner in this case turned to be an advantage, because you missed all these specifications due to the awful sound system installed in the rooms. What you clearly saw was Gabriel’s pale face under the dark lights, the white embellishments on his sneakers and sweater glowing eerily.

The place had three floors, and you had to climb through all of them to find the emergency stairs on the back of the building that would lead you safely outside. The bad part was that, while you were in a group of six -strength in the numbers-, the other members were really not helping at all. You’d say it was because they were laughing and ruining the creepy atmosphere, but it was totally the opposite. They were even more scared that you, yelling at every little creak or distant scream another group did ahead of you, and it was _wrecking your nerves._

“If they scream again without prompting, we ditch them” you hissed. Gabriel, bless his heart, nodded quickly, sharp eyes scanning the surroundings relentlessly. A very dead butler reminded you through the speakers that it was safer to stay in groups to not give the spirits the opportunity to slaughter you alone. You flipped the bird to the first camera you found, red light sassily titling in the dark.

To put things short, Gabriel was fully carrying you after the second jump-scare, and you hid inside his coat for the rest of the ride, flinching at every scary sound. His heart was too soft to leave the other four dead weights behind, and he ended commanding everyone in a military march until you were all out.

“If you ever, _ever,_ ask me to do this again I will choke you dead with your own intestines, you hear me?”

He agreed immediately, walking with you as fast as you could away from the nightmare fuel factory. “I’m very done with this carnival.”

You went to pick the plushies from the locker, bought dinner on the way to the hostel and played cards until the moon was up in the sky, blasting _Hamilton_ through your phone to drown the distant music that could still be heard from the carnival, on the other side of the village.

Bedtime was much more reasonable, since you had warned Gabriel you were holding onto him from the very moment he’d get under the blankets, already knowing that you would have nightmares.

He shrugged. “I’m getting the middle of the bed then, you almost pushed me off the mattress last night.”

“Whatever you want.” If he asked for a moonstone in payment for the cuddles, you’d build a rocket and go get one this very moment. You were not fucking bluffing.

* * *

You did had nightmares -terrible, full of blood and death ones, to make the matters worse- until the Sunday’s early morning. Another bad dream woke you up, a horrible and broken gargoyle sitting on your chest and crushing your ribs under its weight, laughing cruelly at your terror. You snapped your eyes open, unmoving, and panicked when the heaviness that stopped you from moving was still there. You closed then again, grimacing.

Was it like _Inception?_ Were you still inside of a nightmare, or, I don’t know, you never left? Were you now a lucid dreamer? What of you got killed while being aware that you were dreaming, what would-?

... Your left arm was free, and you could move it just perfectly. You tested your hand, opening and closing the fingers, and then the range of movement. You weren’t chained to the bed there, and neither were your legs. Then what...?

You peeped an eye open again, waiting for the worst to happen when you felt a light breath on your neck.

A rapist, a murderer watching you sleep, a corrupted doctor wondering where he should cut you open to get better access to your liver-

It was Gabriel. He was asleep like a baby and also fucking crushing you, his dead weight pinning you to the bed.

The room was barely lit, with the only source being some stray sunbeams piercing through the thin curtains, and you gave yourself a few moments to breath and calm down. You managed to wiggle your right arm free from under Gabriel’s body, and he grunted, snuggling closer with no signal indicating any will to actually wake up. Who was the cuddler now, huh?

Your phone told you it was seven thirty, and you found it incredibly amusing that Gabriel, with how much he bragged about not needing an alarm to wake up and go jogging, all because he was ‘above all those useless inventions’, had missed his usual call. It was kind of relieving, finally verifying that he was not a rooster in disguise.

You know what? You wanted to be selfish that morning. You wanted to stay in bed and rest and not think about the carnival or any other activity that implied or involved the outside world. So, you left your phone, hugged Gabriel back and closed your eyes, signing in content at the warm he emitted.

.... his back was really toned. As in ‘you could actually feel his muscles through the thick pj’s fabric’ toned. Was that weird? You weren’t checking him out or anything -God forbid, he was your roomie-, but that was just a plain, cold fact. Perhaps it was a good idea to get your hands off him, you know, to avoid the temptation altogether.

Instead of following your very reasonable thoughts, you kept patting him, whining in your head about how unfair it was he was so big and heavy, had such wide shoulders and, in general, that he was _hot_. You weren’t blind, you had known that since the very second you had seen him but forgot about it every time, he opened his mouth. His stupidity took all his attractive and chucked it in the garbage, you see.

But, in moments like these, when you had him quiet and calm, you took your chance and appreciated the straight lines that formed his face, his thick brows and his hair. You had always liked his hair because even now it maintained his shape. His hairspray was made with pulverized diamonds and no one could prove you wrong. You had neither proof nor doubts.

Moments like these were dangerous, because your common sense was out on vacation, you were sleepy, and the idea of ruffling his hair just to see how it would look showed itself more and more enticing the longer you looked at it.

With a shameful clicking of tongue and incredibly disappointed in yourself, you succumbed to your desires, and his hair was even softer than you had thought. He made a sinful rumble when your hands went through his locks and you froze, which made him whine.

What was worse? Panicking, snuggling or waking him up because you were -not- feeling him up? Quick, quick!

...Snuggling, snuggling! He had cuddled you the day before, thus it was technically allowed. You had unspoken carte blanche, and, well, someone shoot you in the head, you were curious. Your insanely hot roommate was there, laying on top of you with his whole body and making _sounds_ whenever you touched him.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

You passed your nails against his skin and he squeezed you, making you realise he had his hands there at your sides. You did it again, because you were a fucking masochist, and his breathy sigh tickled your neck. You shivered.

...You were going to Hell.

* * *

Unlike yours, Gabriel’s night had been excellent. The mattress was good, the blankets’ weight was comfortably heavy. The only uncomfortable moment came when you kicked him in the stomach, deep in your bad dream, and he had to physically hold your thrashing body down to get you to stop flailing your limbs. After that minor incident, it was all a sweet, smooth millpond.

You were the one to wake him up, the chiming of upcoming messages coming from your phone stirring him up. He _had_ been in that slow doze, just enjoying your hands on him -there was not a thing in this world capable of touching him without his knowledge, after all- and he finally understood why you had liked his attentions so much the previous day.

“Good morning” you greeted him, voice low, as your fingers played with his nape. “How does it feel to sleep in for once in your life?”

The first sound Gabriel could make was a throaty hum, and he squinted at the light coming through the drapes. He let his head fall back where it was, there on your clavicle, and did his best to stretch his body without actually having to move from the comfortable position he was in. This was why you loved to sleep so much? The warm and the slowness and the utter comfort? He was so damn cosy right now he didn’t care about the sleep-in thing.

“What’s the time now?” he rasped, eyes falling closed again.

You checked your phone, glad that he couldn’t see the blush on your face. “Quarter past eight, a bit too early for my liking, but right up your alley.”

It was a slow morning, which turned into a slow day of binge-watching Game of Thrones again by mutual agreement. Carnival day had taken a toll on both of you, and you needed your rest. Gabriel left for his jogging session in the afternoon, while you were napping, because he felt like a slob spending all day in bed. He went to buy dinner too, knowing that you wouldn’t mind cold pizza at all, and returned to the hostel, feeling more like a person and less like a couch potato.

You had showered and ventilated the room again, and were waiting for him while reading a book, the same episode he had paused when you fell asleep showing on the screen of his tablet. The Archangel changed immediately into his époque-like sleeping wear -he had experience ignoring your badly hidden snorts by now- and that’s how you finished your day.

Monday, the last day you had of vacation, was a bit rougher. You insisted on repeating Sunday, but Gabriel had had enough of the hostel room; he was a social butterfly and he wanted to go out and see people.

“Where are you going? The town will be empty by now, carnival’s over” you whined, obliging to his demand of changing your clothes to something an actual adult would wear.

“All the children are back in London, so we can explore the village better than the first time.”

“There’re like twelve buildings in total and more than half of them are bars, what do you even want to explore that we hadn’t seen by now?”

“There were cats the first day, remember? We can probably find them again.” And that shut you up.

With you trailing lazily after him, laughing to yourself when you realised he had totally given up about the shoes argument, you returned to the square with the dumb statue, and then, at his insistence, to the carnival.

The fence was a bit wider than the previous days in order to make room for the trucks and the construction equipment necessary to take down the whole precinct, and the rides it contained. All the decorations were gone, exchanged for an unreasonable amount of mud, and you found it kind of sad -you did rejoice at the sight of five guys tearing apart the horror house, but that was about it. Gabriel still found the whole process very interesting, and he sometimes interrupted workers to ask what tools they were using or where would they put a particular piece of metal. 

You ate lunch at the square, the owner of the restaurant surprised that you were still there in their little town, and then returned back to the hostel to pack your stuff and kill the time before the bus arrived.

Gabriel left you to shower and went down to bid goodbye to the strange desk guy, who he had ended up befriending. You rolled your eyes, still weirded out by his overly enthusiastic attitude with who, you suspected, was his secret boss, but waved him goodbye too, hoping very hard to never see him again.

The bus came late, half an hour after it started to rain to be precise, and you got up, shamelessly looking for two seats with a working heater, and ready to return to London and back to your lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. It was long, huh?  
> ....How did you like it?
> 
> I know there's a lot happening everywhere but if you really think the drama and fluff are over just because I squeezed all my mushy juice in this chapter let me tell you you're fucking wrong. Someone out there (I'm not giving names this time, you'll have to work for it ;]) guessed right about what's about to happen.
> 
> And we still have Crowley and Aziraphale roaming around, don't think I've forgotten about them *wink wink*
> 
> [Also, I'm planning ahead -WAY AHEAD- but I did say we'll be having smut here. I want to know if you guys want me to warn about it in the tags, in the chapter's title, if you want some '*****' visual warning before it happens, or if you consider better to just integrate it within the general narration and flow.... You know, that kinda thing B)]
> 
> [[BTW, DO LEAVE IN THE COMMENTS SOME KINKS YOU GUYS WANT TO EXPLORE WITH THE BITCHASS ARCHANGEL AND I'LL TRY MY BEST TO GET THEM IN THE FIC. STAY THIRSTY, PEOPLE <3]]


	15. London Is Falling Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You think everything is going to be good forever? I've got some news for you, pal.
> 
> Everyone is sad, that's about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, guys!  
> I love the responses the last chapter got, you guys are amazing!
> 
> Get ready for this one, cause there's a lot of anxiety and angst going on. The drama is back BABY.
> 
> ...Enjoy <3

After the trip and a terrible night with contractures all over your back, you were back on your bullshit, if you know what I mean.

You had some experience riding in night buses from your cheap, teenage years; wisely you had chosen a week of work in the restaurant instead of going straight to the weddings, so you could rest a little better. Yes, you had loved your vacation, and it had been extremely fun, but there was _nothing_ like home.

The moment you opened the door, Gabriel peeping warily behind you at the stairs -the landlady had tried to stop you there in the hall to gossip about ‘where had you gone, you two, that you kept it so quiet’, and Gabriel was going to tolerate _precisely_ none of it-, you dropped your bags and kicked your shoes off, taking huge steps towards your bedroom without even bothering to get the lights on. The apartment wasn’t that dark, considering how see-through your curtains were, and you moved around easily thanks to the familiar lay-out.

“Where are you going?” Gabriel, much more controlled and half as tired, picked your stuff back up and followed your path of destruction, making a mental note to water the huge plant by the window after dusting the flat. He would have to vacuum and mop the floor, and...

You loved your house. Seriously, you _loved_ it. It was quite small, yes, but had enough space to keep your books and all your stuff. You also loved your bedroom; since you had moved to Britain, you had tried to transform it into the cosiest room in the apartment, and you had decorated it accordingly with your tastes, that is, the floor was barely visible under the unreasonable amount of books that covered it and your bed, while a bit on the smaller size, had the comfiest, most fluffy cover ever to be knitted. And there, right in the middle of the mattress, was your prize.

You smiled and launched yourself at it. “My baby, oh, I’ve missed you so bad! Never, ever again I’ll leave you here.”

The Archangel perked at your voice from the living room, curious to know what on Earth were you talking about, poking his head inside your room. You were there, on top of the bed, aggressively cuddling the pillow he had made with his feathers.

Gabriel’s heart skipped a beat.

It was-! Ugh! Why did you have to do that? Why did you have to look so happy, why the purring while you rubbed your face against the object? Why did you have to let out so many positive waves?

It was... doing _things_ to him. And Gabriel didn’t know what those things were. He was certain those weren’t malfunctions anymore -God had been very adamant about it-, but they felt so foreign he didn’t dare to put a name on them. And he didn’t want to know, anyway. No more distractions from his mission were required, thank you very much.

He quickly left your bag at the door and turned around, face burning hot as a volcano, to go organize his own bag pack. The nerves you had... acting all adorable like that. He was certain it wasn’t the influence from his feathers either what made you behave in such a way. You were just like that, radiating love and comfort and happiness like someone had dared you not to and you were feeling bitchy about it.

He dutifully watered Sartorius while you showered, glaring disapprovingly at the dust that had accumulated on top of the books’ covers that surrounded the plant, and then you cooked breakfast while he did, as he was itching to wash away the grime from the dirty bus that had brought you back to London away. You had a teasing smile on, there at the kitchen table, when he exited the tiny tiled room.

“Any reason I should be informed about why you’re smiling at me like you’re going to steal my wallet?”

“No, no; you’re just making a funny face” you mused with a toothy smile, pointing at his cheeks. Gabriel huffed, quite aware that his blush had not lessened in the shower as he had intended and ignored your sass in favour of his bowl of oatmeal and fruit. Reacting to your provocations would only fuel them, and you would get bored soon enough. You waved your spoon at him, munching on your breakfast while checking your phone. “I’ll be working late today, too, by the way.”

Gabriel made a disbelieving sound equivalent to an eye roll, stabbing a strawberry. “We just arrived London and it’s seven in the morning. I think it’s pertinent you ask your boss to give you more breaks. This schedule you have is moronic at its best.”

You patted his back, already finished and heading to prepare your work bag. “We can only dream of that, my guy. See you tonight.” You thought for a few seconds; “you know what? No, I won’t see you tonight. You better be sleeping by the time I arrive, or I’ll sell your toenails in the deep web. Bye bye.”

Gabriel accompanied you to the door and locked it behind you, knowing you would forget to do it -as _always-_ , and then took a look around the apartment. It wasn’t exactly messy, as no one had been there since you had left to the carnival, but it wasn’t up to his standards. His plan for the morning was to preen himself -now that he had a place to put his discarded feathers, namely, the filling of your pillow, he was far more comfortable with his grooming-, clean the apartment and then he would go jogging.

A nice, round morning. Ah, order and control, so satisfying. Routines were so good.

* * *

The sun felt nice on his skin, always a welcomed warm, despite the attempts of his car’s windows to stop it from reaching the interior of the vehicle. The motor left a pleasant rumble, strong and thrumming like a giant cat.

Crowley had grown confident in the two weeks he was blessed without the presence of the Archangel in his life. Call him all the nasty names in the book, but now London had this soft, comforting aura, free of the holy freshness Gabriel always seemed to carry with him, and it was making him very happy. Everywhere he went, the only traces of immortality he could find were either his or Aziraphale’s, and that helped to reduce his anxiety significantly.

No external angel beyond the one he was dating wandering the world meant no further contact with Heaven, and he couldn’t perceive even the whiff of a lesser demon roaming around either. Gabriel had come down on Earth, done whatever angelic folly he had to do and then disappeared overnight like a boat in the mist. He would know, as he had patrolled the city for the last weeks in his Bentley in order to keep track of that feathered pain in the ass. One morning, as sudden as the flash from a camera, his overwhelming stench was no more. Poof! Gone just like that.

It was good, and he had been able to sleep for two days uninterrupted, basking in the knowledge that he and Aziraphale were safe, with no Great or Ineffable Plans, no God and no Hell and no Heaven. They were keeping their words, leaving him and his sweet angel to do their own thing, which was a bloody luxury he intended to milk till its last drop.

And that meant, a round of applauses please, that he and Aziraphale could merrily return to their well-deserved happy ever after.

All that required a celebration.

Crowley had the whole day planned: he had found and acquired -through not very legal ways, but that’s whatever- a really old manuscript his angel had been dying to get his hands on for literal centuries, he was going to buy dinner from this new place he had mentioned he really liked and he had a whole romantic setting, scented candles and petals and everything, ready to be placed in his apartment. Aziraphale could always detect the trace of recent miracles and he had this beautiful smile Crowley could die for every time the demon would prepare something with his own hands.

Don’t call him mushy -death awaits-, but he was in a cloud. He just had to finish this route to check the locations he had suspected the Archangel frequented and then head to the restaurant. He was just in time, too, and would miss the lunch rush, so his order should be quick to cook. And then, just an _itsy bitsy_ miracle to keep it warm while he prepared his flat. Oh, he could already see his lover’s face, all blushy and adorable at his dedication. His stomach did some flops.

Crowley stopped the car at the red streetlight, feeling like following the highway laws for once in five decades and whistling alongside Freddie Mercury’s voice, tapping rhythmically the wheel. He waited for the pedestrians to cross the street, not even bothering to beep at them to scare them. He laughed to himself, remembering when he had changed all the doorbells in the central district for car honks, and, then, all the lampposts for disco balls. What a good week that had been! Stars, he cared not if his pranks were now devilish enough for Hell to approve of, but was it satisfying to see the people’s faces!

He lowered his window, hoping to catch the fading summer breezes with their warm tinges and, like a slap in the face, he smelt it. The wintery and still scent of freshly fallen snow. Crowley’s gesture became sour immediately, like he had eaten a lemon whole, when the aforementioned Archangel jogged through the crosswalk in front of his face, paying him no attention. Crowley blinked and watched him go, following his body with his head, mouth hanging open grimily in his denial.

Alright. Al-fucking-right.

...He made the engine roar, driving blindly to his next destination in a mist of rage. He just had to go to the restaurant without running over anyone and then pick the food and he could have his lovely date with the love of his live.

Everything was chill.

Everything was fine.

...

_Fucking Gabriel._

* * *

You knew your day was going to be dreadful when you saw them come in once again, and, like a ritual, seat themselves in the farthest of the tables that belonged to your area, there against the wall, choosing the one with the most difficult access. Chris waved at you enthusiastically, and the other two girls sent you some toothy smiles, picking the menus on the table with a flare that indicated they were here to create trouble.

You clicked your tongue, popped your fingers and took a deep breath in. Robbie, who was just exiting the kitchen when he caught where you were looking at, grunted at your side, enraged. “What the Hell are they doing here again?”

“Take a guess, Robs” you retorted, shaking your head. You had a job to do, whether you liked it or not, and serving your area was not an option.

“C’mon! Whatcha’ waiting for? Come over here already, we’re hungry!” Chris howled.

You went to greet the group at their table, zigzagging between the other sets of furniture and making sure that, yes, the trip with their orders, no matter how good your equilibrium with a tray was, was bound to be tricky. They watched you push empty chairs out of the way with a condescending look, as if they were doing you a favour by waiting for you to reach them. You arrived and smiled back at them, an angry feeling already developing in your stomach. “Good morning and welcome. What can I get you?”

“Someone who actually speaks English, for a change” said girl one, snickering. There was a round of ill-mannered snorts, and you just widened your smile in answer. “I seriously don’t know how anyone understands you, your accent is so thick! Alright, there’s nothing for now, we just arrived and haven’t looked at the food yet. Just make sure to be around when we do. Today will be good.”

Fuck them. They were the ones calling you and now it showed their intentions were to have you waste your feet in meaningless trips. In your head, you had already snapped her neck three times. “Of course; just let me know when you’re ready and I’ll be here.”

“What did they say, what did they say?” Robbie approached you quickly when you returned back to the kitchen, but promptly shut his mouth at your face. His tone became angry and concerned. “Oh, shit. _What_ did they say? Are you ok?”

“It’s cool, I’m good, everything is fine” you said, shrugging and trying to downplay their rudeness. That had been a low blow, and you were already seething; you were really sensitive about your accent, and it being the target of the first of their jokes had _really_ gotten to you. You hated that it affected you so much. Fuck your insecurities. You had improved so much since you had arrived Britain, and yes, you had an accent and you sometimes put your foot in your mouth when it came to grammar or pronouncing a written word you hadn’t seen before, but you had been convinced you _were doing so great_. And now they had made you self-conscious about it again. “...Do you even know why they’re here?”

“One of the cooks told me they came around on Friday too, but left after a quick look; do you think they were here for you?” He patted your shoulder, frowning at the door through which he could see the dinning area. “Do you want me to talk to the boss? Maybe I can get him to kick them out.”

“No, no. I had a huge fight with him the last time they showed up and left for the day. If I pull something like that again he’s gonna fire me for sure. I need the money.” You rubbed your face, trying to calm yourself down and quiet your stupid anxiety. “It’s cool, they’re just a bunch of idiotic customers, we have dozens of those daily. I can handle them; I just have to muscle through their clownery. I can do it.”

From the hall came your boss, blading head shining under the artificial kitchen light and glaring at you through his glasses. “I’ve just been in the dinning area and there’s this table with people yelling at me? Why is that? The said they’ve been calling for you and you’re refusing to service them. Get out there and do your damn job.”

You gasped in anger, “I just got in here-!”

“I don’t want to hear it, just get out!”

You snarled under your breath some ugly threats in your mother language, made a dismissive wave with your arms the moment you boss’ back was turned and left to the offending table again, stomping your feet. Of course, as you had suspected, they were just playing with you.

“What are you doing here again? Ugh, take a walk! We said we’ll call for you when we need you, let us breathe.”

“Are you sure you’re actually understanding what we’re saying?” Girl two, shook her head condescendingly, “maybe you should just call a waiter that actually speaks English.”

They did this once more before you, absolutely sick of their jokes and their insults and jabs, crossed your arms, position still and permanently looking at their table from outside the kitchen. You had chosen to stay there, outside their hearing range but visible from the table so they couldn’t complain about you not paying attention or pressuring them into ordering faster.

The meal was a pain, too; ‘this is too cold’, ‘this is too hot’, ‘you got the order wrong’, ‘can you please get here a little faster?’... By the time they paid -they did hold the receipt for a good half an hour before Robbie got pissed and went to retrieve it himself-, your nerves were wrecked, and your anxiety was through the roof.

Robbie patted your shoulder and guided you outside through the back exit, your walk adorned with the pity looks the cooks were giving you. You hated it. “Here, get some fresh air. I’ll do some damage control with the boss and I’ll bring you something to eat; at least rush hour is over.”

The back door led to a bricked alley, some dumpsters to the side and a roughly crafted concrete step by the door were waiters could sit to rest during their breaks. Someone had written ‘smoker’s corner’ with chalk right above it, and the white residue was faded and ugly looking. You sat there, side to side with a rusty bucket waiters used to toss the finished joints, and Robbie lit up a cigarette and passed it to you. “I really don’t feel like eating, Robs...”

“Hold this for me?” You rolled your eyes but obliged, the cancer stick feeling foreign in your fingers. He thanked you with a nod and turned around. “I’ll get you some water then, just wait for me to get that sandwich.” 

“Sure, whatever. Thanks.”

You stayed there, shoulders hanging low and head lowered between your knees, one arms extended far away to keep the yucky smell of the cigar away from you. If you closed your eyes, you could hear the faint rumble of cars in the city. They sounded busy; the area your restaurant was had been closed to traffic for three years now, to counteract pollution, and you were glad you didn’t have to deal with the fumes. Gross stuff, progress.

“Whatcha’ doing there?”

You lifted your head, frowning at whoever had interrupted your self-pity time, and found a familiar red-haired man looking unpleasantly at you. Crowley was frowning, too, eyeing you like he hadn’t been expecting you to be there and you had crossed him on purpose. You wrinkled you nose at him, sighing bitterly and shooing him away with an upset shake of hand. “Is there any reason I have to justify where I am whenever you’re around? Leave me alone.”

He glanced at the cigar in your hand, and clicked his tongue, but decided against commenting about it. He pointed at the building you were sitting against with his chin. “Do ya’ work in there?”

“’Course not, I just wear a waitress uniform for fun. Get with the times.”

Crowley didn’t seem offended at your snide, and he kept looking at you like you had sprouted a second head. One would had said he was frozen in place, with how little he moved. It was a characteristic of his, angling his head in short bursts at the things that caught his attention like a snake would, and you had always found it incredibly curious. Now, it was just unnerving, and you wanted him to either take his leave or say something else.

“...something wrong happened? Ugh, you don’t seem very...” He made another unintelligible sound with his mouth, as if his speech had malfunctioned, and brushed his hair, “...good, uh, well.”

“What’s it to you?” You went back to staring at the floor, realising that picking a fight with him was not really something you wanted to do now. Why were you trying to get him to argue with you, now that you were already feeling like shit? You rubbed your face with the heel of your hand, mindful of the cigar in the other, and waved at him again. “Piss off, Anthony, I’m not in the mood.”

Crowley wanted to say something, but the metal door that connected the restaurant with the outside world creaked open, cutting short whatever he intended to voice. Robbie came after it, carrying his sandwich and two glasses of water. “Here, I’m back. Listen, if they keep coming to harass you, we’ll have to take the matters in our own hands; boss doesn’t have the guts to kick anyone out-” He blinked at Crowley, closing his mouth and looking at both of you. “Uh, who’s this guy? You know him?”

“Yeah, I do, but he was leaving already-”

“Are you being harassed?” asked the demon, and you glanced up at him, wondering why the heck would he get angry at it. He insisted, taking some steps forwards to you, and you saw Robbie square up at his approach. “Are you being bothered, who’s-”

“By you” you cut him, lips frowned, and that shut him up. “My life is none of your business, remember? I think we made that clear already.”

“Ya’ didn’t-”

Robbie, food and glasses now safely on the ground, stepped up, interposing himself between the to of you. “Dude, back off. I swear if you’re part of Chris’ little gang I’ll call the police on you, and I ain’t fucking bluffing. She told you to piss off. Do it and there’ll be no trouble.”

Crowley was tall, but scrawny as a scarecrow, the total opposite to Robbie’s muscled body. While there was no hesitation in the serpent’s attitude and you suspected he was ready to throw punches with you friend at any given second, a glance at you made him reconsider. You saw his puffed chest deflate, and he took a few steps back, creating a safe space between him and the waiter. You were still looking at the floor, clearly uninterested in what was happening, and he clicked his tongue, retreating to the streets. He called for you one last time, voice sour and low. “If you have any problem, you can always call Aziraphale.”

You shooed him away once more, face irritable. “Sod off.”

* * *

The rest of the afternoon and night, which you had spent avoiding your boss’ snarky remarks, wasn’t that busy regarding customer service. Robbie kept at your side, occasionally patrolling by the door to check the streets and if Chris’ group was returning to cause another uproar -he was cracking his knuckles and popping his fingers, ready to start a quarrel whenever if that turned to be the case.

“Drop it, Robs, they already got their fun” you shrugged, mopping the floor, “it’s over for today.”

He let a disgruntled complain but gave up, and you didn´t talk about it until you were back in his car, as he had offered to take you home. The ride was silent, the radio on and acting as a distraction. When you arrived at your building, Robbie stopped you from getting out of his car, his hand holding your forearm.

“...You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to” he started, and you immediately tensed, loathing how it sounded. He took his hand back, a quick apology being mussed, before signalling you to sit back down. “Yeah, that was a terrible start, sorry. I just... You told us about that day Chris drove you here to London, and you said it was horrible and I _get_ that, I really do. And again, you don’t have to answer, and if you feel uncomfortable about this, I won’t bring it up again, for real...”

You had barely talked since your encounter with Crowley, incredibly upset and insecure about your accent. You hated feeling like that. You had spent so many years, so much effort in building up your confidence and your skills and they had just crumbled in one rude exchange. You were mad, and tired and you wanted Robbie to stop walking on eggshells and tell you whatever he wanted to say. Any other time, you’d be touched at how mindful and respectful he was being, but now you just wanted it to be over. “Just ask the question, Robs.”

Robbie took a few breaths in and gathered his thoughts, and when he was ready, he found your eyes. “I’m concerned about what they did to you that day, ok? You can’t step into a car without hyperventilating, and even now, when we’re parked, you’re clutching the handlebar there on the door like I’m ready to zoom into space.” You quickly let go and tucked your hand away, self-conscious. He shook his head. “No, no! See? I didn’t mean anything by it, of course you can grab there, and wherever. I’m sorry. I just... The way you look at them -at cars, even-, it’s... I don’t know how to say it, fuck. It’s like you have nightmares about it.”

Your shoulders slumped and you scratched your face, anything to not have to look at Robbie’s face. Your relationship had never been too close, or too distant, and you really didn’t want to discuss your nightmares -because you definitely had them- with him. Or with anyone, if we’re being honest. You sighed, feeling defensive with the topic; having him talking about it made everything real, and it went against your goal to pretend all that shit didn’t happen, so you could go on with your life. It wasn’t healthy, but it was effective, and it had worked for you since you could recall. “I don’t want to talk about it, honestly.”

“Ok, ok, that’s ok. I’m sorry I brought it up” he quickly retorted, hands up as if you were going to assault him. “Just know that you can as for help if you need it?”

“...Sure, thanks.”

You waved him goodbye from the building’s door, cringing at how badly that conversation had gone and inwardly grateful that you had a full day off tomorrow, so you didn’t have to face him.

You climbed the stairs as fast and quietly as possible, exhausted but not willing to risk crossing paths with the crazy landlady and entered the apartment. “Hey, big guy, I’m home.”

Something crashed in Gabriel’s room, and you poked your head out from the entrance, closing the door with your foot, to see what all the ruckus was about. “One moment!” came his rushed voice, muffled but agitated.

“Ok?” You patiently dropped your keys in the bowl and went to change your clothes from the work uniform into some comfortable pyjamas. Ears pricked as you undressed, you caught a lot of ruffling sounds from the other room. “Are you okay in there?”

“I sure am! Aren’t you early, though?” he answered, and some things got knocked over. He cussed with some childish words -it made you smile, what a goof- and he wheezed, out of breath. “How was work today?”

“Absolutely horrendous. How was your day?” you replied nonchalantly, folding your pants but separating the white shirt, stained with salsa and sweat. “I see you had cleaned the house, it looks amazing, thanks for that. You’re so much better at it than I am, gosh, and you can reach the high places too!”

Gabriel exited his room, dishevelled, and knocked on your opened door out of habit, face serious and concerned. He was red faced and held your computer in his hands, but his attention was on your bent-over-a-drawer figure. “What happened?”

You looked back at him and snorted a laugh. “Oh, stars, G. I didn’t know I had interrupted your porno session. You know you can watch the nasty in your tablet, too, right? It’s probably more comfortable than using a computer.”

“I didn’t-! I was downloading episodes from that medieval show we watch, as you taught me too” was his flustered reply, and he showed you the screen insistently. You laughed and he huffed at you, dropping the machine on your bed. “What happened today, then?”

He had been too focused on picking up the leftover feathers from his preening, dammit, to hear the door unlock, but the dark feeling coming from you, awful and suffocating, was impossible to miss. It surrounded you like a rope around you neck, coiled and tight, and Gabriel’s heart grew heavy in response. He had some experience reading your emotions, but this was the first time he had perceived such an abysm, deep and hollow, coming from you. The moment he had sensed it, he had flinched so hard he had hit his wardrobe with his wings, smacking it with such intensity its doors had come out of their hinges. He had to miracle everything in place and repair the cracked wood and do it without you noticing anything amiss. Almighty in Heaven, how stupid would it had been if you had discovered his real identity in such a situation!

You shook your head and dodged his body at the door to toss your dirty laundry in your corresponding basket in the bathroom. “Bunch of assholes decided they could come into my work to bother me. Remember Chris?”

“The man who almost killed you on the road? I’m familiar, yes.”

“Yeah, right. It seems he and his friends are going to be paying me more visits from now on.” You sighed, plopping down on the couch with a defeated exhalation of air. Gabriel sat at your side and allowed you to put your legs on his lap, more preoccupied with what you were saying than with your socks covered in holes. “Robbie told me he heard from one of the cooks the had come in the weekend we when to the carnival but left quickly. If I see them again, I’ll probably call the police; I really don’t want them around, y’know? Oh, I also ran into Crowley again.”

The Archangel, baffled and still processing the information you were telling him, didn’t know were to start. The humans, the demon, the choking disgust coming from you or the fact that his heart was still in his throat from the scare your abrupt appearance in the flat had given him. Finally, he went for the most familiar topic, one he could handle despite his shock. “Crowley was there? He could had sent the humans to-!”

“Nah” you calmed him down, shaking your head at his snarl. “He overheard about it because Robbie and I were talking about it and got really angry, too. I don’t think he’s involved in al that crap.”

“Are you sure about that? He’s a very good deceiver and-”

Your phone rang, screeching for your attention from your pocket, and you sighed in exasperation, reaching for it. It was ‘The Slimy Pest’. You showed the screen at Gabriel, rolling your eyes. “Sorry, I gotta take this one.”

“Ah, your brother. Of course.” 

You went to your room but came out a minute after, nodding at your phone without paying to much attention to what it was being said. You had a notebook and a pen in your hand and showed Gabriel the page you had it open on.

“ _Don’t really want to talk about it anymore. Bad day and all. Can we just watch GoT tonight? I could use some beheadings.”_

Gabriel nodded despite your crude choices in words, and you gave him a grateful smile, returning to your bedroom to talk with your brother. He followed, picked the computer and set it on the living room; then, he quickly miracled the remaining feathers in his room in your pillow -he really hoped you weren’t paying attention at how it would puff up slightly, he could only do so many miracles about it- and prepared a simple dinner, knowing you would refuse to eat anything too complicated at this late hour.

You returned, the angelic pillow in your hands, dragging your feet. Gabriel allowed the dinner to be on the sofa, passing you a plate with a couple of slices of toasted bread and cheese. You squeezed his hand in thanks, and he squeezed back at the wave of love that showed through all the negative mist congesting your emotions.

Whatever was bothering you, you’d tell him when you were ready, pushing you for answers would only made you close up. He was glad he was an angel, capable of sensing emotions, and not walking blindly around your feelings like any human would have to do. He was concerned when you chose to retire to bed early, but chose not to comment on it, and followed your example.

Gabriel was up again at four in the morning, with a painful gasp and a constriction in is chest. The hollow cloud that came from you had spiralled down, worsening significantlly, drowning all the apartment in despair and frustration. With a raspy cough, he tripped out of his room, feeling the walls to orientate himself in the dark. There, projecting a desperate glow on the furniture in the living room, he could see a slit of yellowish light coming from under your door.

He knocked at the covered-in-stickers door and called your name. The mumbles coming from your room shushed, and you voice, tired and wobbly, answered. “Come in, come in. Did I wake you up? I’m sorry, I’ll try to keep it quiet.”

Gabriel frowned at the sight in front of him, a pang of worry coming from himself flooding his senses. You were on the floor, surrounded by what looked like three grammar books, a notebook, your computer and a cold, half-empty cup of black coffee. You hated coffee with all your soul, you had told him once, and when he looked at your face, he encountered paleness and bruises-like circles under your eyes. The room was poorly lit by your desk lamp, and you were hunched, shoulders badly covered with the thick blanket you usually kept on your bed.

“...What are you doing at this hour? The sun isn’t even up...”

“Studying” was your instant answer, pointing at the books on the floor with your pen. Gabriel spotted a dictionary by your knee, partially covered with a tome about pronunciation tips. When had you retrieved all of these? Did you have them in your room or did you go to get them from the living room? How could he had not heard you? The Archangel avoided stepping on the open pages, approaching you like you were a wild animal ready to bolt. You looked at him, puzzled, as if he was the one acting out of character.

“Studying what?” he wondered, sitting beside you when you scooted over to make room for him.

“English, of course. Did you know I’ve been saying ‘student’ and ‘study’ the same way all this time? I thought they would be pronounced like that because of how they’re written, but boy was I wrong!”

“But you already speak English” he said carefully, eyeing the books. The frustration and anxiety coming from you were over the roof despite your cheerful attitude, and he didn’t dare to raise his voice, both due to the late hour and because he feared he could upset you even more.

“Not good enough, turns out. I’ve got this thick as heck accent, and I know my grammar is all over the place. Here, this says there’s an order regarding adjectives in a sequence, you can’t just put them however in a sentence. I’ve been doing it all wrong since forever.”

Gabriel frowned again, ignoring completely the book you were pointing at. “Your accent is lovely and-”

“Nah, I know it’s hard to understand me with it. I just have to improve and be better!” You shook your head at him playfully, as if he was just talking nonsense and being nice about your fails, and picked your notebook and the dictionary back up, returning to whatever you were doing.

The Archangel tried to reason with you a few more times, insisting this was not the time to do all this and that you should go to bed and sleep like any rational person. Then, he just tried to get you to drop the books, panicking at how your anxiety went up and down, fighting the exhaustion and the dark, brooding sensation coming from you, but you refused to hear his arguments, dismissing him one way or another.

Gabriel sat with you the rest of the night, not wanting to leave you alone in such a state and feeling incredibly uneasy, sad and hurt when he realised he didn’t know how to help you.

* * *

Aziraphale loved having dates with Crowley, and specially when they happened at his place. Of course, going out to have lunch or dinner, and walking together around the city, or cuddling together were in the top positions as favourite activities, but there was something about the demon’s house, so forbidden, that made his skin crawl.

Also, he lived in the highest floor in the building and the views from there were breath-taking.

The angel rode the bus that would take him where his dear lived, humming to himself and mingling with the humans around him. Someone asked about the bottle of wine he was carrying, and they made conversation the whole way, and he indulged in a bit of bragging about his incredible boyfriend.

Crowley always left the door unlocked for him, and Aziraphale brushed his fingers against the snake-shaped doorknob as usual before pushing in. “My dear, boy, I-”

In front of him, a complete disaster. A bag with some protruding candles and packages of dried petals rested by the door, and, there on the table, another bag with take-out food gone cold. Laying by it was a dumped bottle of red wine, still dripping, and a broken glass with some bittersweet unconsumed liquid.

The angel entered the room, leaving his own bottle on the table in a rush. Flashes of demons or angels crossed his mind as he hurried through the halls, and his voice trembled, calling for his lover and fearing the worst. “Crowley! Crowley, where-?”

He found the demon by the crystallized balcony, and Aziraphale took a deep, relieved breath he didn’t know he was holding. The serpent was sitting on the floor and looking terrible, his head hidden between his hands, back hunched against the side of his golden throne and surrounded by the remaining fragments of several pots and some uprooted plants, probably victims of a fit of rage. Aziraphale knew Crowley, as he did, didn’t need to breath, but seen him there, still and quiet unnerved him greatly. He took a few steps in the room, and a pair of discarded, cracked sunglasses crunched under his soles, catching the demon’s attention. 

Crowley looked up from his position, face livid, and shook his head in disbelief. “...Ya’ were right, she’s just a human. I was so wrong about _everything_.”

It had taken Aziraphale six thousand years and a lot of guts to understand how Crowley worked, and this was about not only his personality, but his traits as a demon. The day he discovered that fallen angels, unlike the ones that were welcomed in Heaven, had been stripped from their ability to feel most emotions from the world, just filtering it down to been able to sense the negative one so it would fuel their despair, his heart had cried. He had felt so sorry for them; he now could see the reasoning behind his lover’s choices, since he could only perceive a reality full of cruelty and pain, and that had made him distant and distrusting, pushing every mortal he had come across away.

He had expected Crowley to lash out at you and Gabriel, unsure and feeling attacked in his own territory, but he had forgot to consider how unsafe he was actually feeling because of the Armagedidn’t. Aziraphale was certain Heaven would never act against their promises, but Hell was unknown for him, and Crowley had suffered for it.

“Oh, my love...”

The angel ran to his side, and immediately hugged Crowley, whispering words of consolation in his ear. The demon’s stiff body melted against him, as if he was an oasis in the middle of the desert, and clutched him equally hard, desperate. “I’m sorry, you were right...”

Aziraphale helped him up, and when Crowley refused to walk, he carried him to the master bedroom in the house, miracling away the broken pots and bottles, and sub-sequentially cleaning the dirt and wine. He took his shoes off and cuddled Crowley, forcing his body on the nest of pillows on the bed, and following him. “Tell me what happened?” He requested.

It took Crowley a few minutes to do so, and when he spoke, he sounded small and defeated. “I saw her today, at the restaurant ya’ said ya’ liked. I was there to pick some food for ya’ and she was there, in a back alley. So angry, angel, so, so sad, too. So small. She stank of anxiety. Did ya’ know? She’s being harassed at her job, a bunch of fucking humans going after her.”

Aziraphale covered his face in kisses, his neck, his hands, compassion flooding his senses. “Realising wrong is the first step to make a right, my love.”

“She won’t forgive me.”

“She will, if you give her the chance.”

Crowley had thought you were an angel, that you had tried to get under his skin and earn his trust to get closer and then deliver the coup de grace. Someone like Gabriel, an Archangel respected and obeyed wherever he went, wouldn’t lower himself to the company of some lesser being like a human. But, unlike Gabriel, you hadn’t smelt of holiness, and he had thought you had fooled him. How dangerous were you, if you were capable of hiding your true nature? Was Heaven training a new elite group of Cherubs with unknown abilities in order to erase him and Aziraphale from Earth?

He had been wrong. He had been so wrong he wanted to cry, all the worry that had built up in the last months strangulating him until he couldn’t breathe, or sleep, or walk without thinking you were going to slaughter him and his angel. And now he knew the truth, even if he didn’t understand why Gabriel had chosen you to stay at his side. You were soft, so weak and tender, gentle and full of mistakes and opinions and emotions. So painfully human it hurt to think about it.

Aziraphale stayed the night with him, talking, kissing and hugging everything better, until Crowley finally fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I didn't need to make everyone cry or have a fucking panic attack, I know. It just happened. The feelings took over and I'm just a mere puppet.
> 
> WE HAVE FANART! And you'll be able to find it under the #the chicken that finally crossed the fucking road in Tumblr, in my @kuvvydraws account! (Beware of the spoilers, I can't always control myself)
> 
> I've also chosen a song for this fic becase it gives me THE FEELS about Reader and Gabriel and I believe it's perfect for them. It's 'Haz de luz', by Rayden, and I'm sure you're going to love it.
> 
> [I'm planning ahead -WAY AHEAD- but I did say we'll be having smut here. I want to know if you guys want me to warn about it in the tags, in the chapter's title, if you want some '*****' visual warning before it happens, or if you consider better to just integrate it within the general narration and flow.... You know, that kinda thing B)]
> 
> [[BTW, DO LEAVE IN THE COMMENTS SOME KINKS YOU GUYS WANT TO EXPLORE WITH THE BITCHASS ARCHANGEL AND I'LL TRY MY BEST TO GET THEM IN THE FIC. STAY THIRSTY, PEOPLE <3]] 
> 
> \-----------  
> Smex update section [it won't happen anytime soon, just so you know]:  
> · I'll write a (*) in the chapters that will have smut to warn you guys.  
> ·Praise kink


	16. The Chicken, The Serpent And The River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone has to put a stop to whatever is fucking up your life and that's going to be Gabriel.
> 
> Aziraphale and Crowley are back and, somehow, happier, even if that doesn't mean much.
> 
> Robbie finds a flea that won't leave him alone.
> 
> You have a nice day at work for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I'm late, or not, or whatev, but the important part is that I'M BACK BABY, AND I BROUGHT YOU FLUFF *insert Elmo and flames meme*
> 
> I hope you like this chapter because it took me ages to write, it was SO FUCKING hard. I suck at fluff :)
> 
> Enjoy!

The Archangel looked at your face. You had fallen asleep, out of pure exhaustion, not an hour ago, and the signs showed. You were tuckered against his side, as if you had fallen there, and Gabriel had procured the angelic pillow for you in hopes that it would help you rest better; the moment he had pressed it against your body, you had latched onto it with a whimper, and he felt incredibly guilty for finding your eagerness endearing.

He was tired, too. Not physically, but emotionally; the crisis you had last night, with that violent tornado of feelings flooding the apartment, had drained him. They were so strong and sudden, so foreign yet so overwhelming, he had been unable to control them, and the negativity and anxiety had hit him like a train at full speed. There were not many situations in his existence where he had felt so powerless.

Gabriel knew he had to do _something_.

Something relevant, that is, to find a way to stop whatever madness had you feeling this terrible way. The thought of you continuing to drown in your own unhappiness weighted in his stomach like a sinking rock. He was determined, the fiery heat of a settled decision making its way into his core, to take this matter in his own hands if necessary.

For now, making sure you were comfortable had to be enough, however. He didn’t dare to make any moves beyond the light petting on your hair, his arms resting over your shoulders, fearing he would wake you up and start your nightmare all over again. Never had he seen anyone just collapse the way you had, your energy dried till its last drop until you had just fallen against him helplessly, breathing so softly it was even hard to perceive.

He brushed a few wild locks of hairs away from your face and you grumbled, resisting to face the real world and curling closer to him, but the damage was already done. Sighing and rubbing your eyes, you stretched painfully, the tension in your back and shoulders created by sleeping on the floor snapping your conscience awake. It was like trying to straighten a crunchy tyre. Nobody like it, nor your back, neither the tyre.

You saw Gabriel and your first instinct was to return to him, shielding your face against the offending greyish sun in his biceps. Stupid world and stupid star with its stupid light. You grumbled a bit more, voice rough and sleepy. “...what time is it?”

“Not even nine yet, as far as I can tell” was his easy response. He waited for you to say something else, the room falling into a hesitant silence, but you were too comfortable and drained to care for anything beyond his hand rubbing soft, soothing circles on your back. The Archangel gave you a few minutes to wake up, relishing in the lack of anxiety that you were producing and focusing on your tiny, happy whimpers instead. “I intend to visit Aziraphale today,” he informed you, lacking his usual confidence, “would you join me?”

You wanted nothing to do with life today, that was for sure. To be honest, you were kind of embarrassed that Gabriel had found you in the middle of an anxiety attack, and also touched that he hadn’t left you to go thought it on your own, so the debate was between crawling into a whole forever or going out to get some necessary vitamin D. The choice was so easy it was laughable, and then your resolve crumbled down like a castle od cards in the wind.

Yes, you were beat, and your current mental state was as proactive as a hibernating lemming, but you made the mistake of looking up, and you saw in his face how much he wanted you to accompany him, how his purple eyes begged you to say yes.

...You didn’t want to be alone right now, either. “Sure, just give me a minute to shower.”

Gabriel dared not to rush you, and he treated you as if you were made of fragile glass for the rest of the morning. You, who had developed an animosity against hovering and definitely didn’t like to be fussed over, tolerated it the best you could. Had he been someone else you’d have chewed his head off by now, but he was being soft-spoken and kinda adorable, and it hit you right in the feelings that he would care so much.

Damn, you were weak for him.

The trip to Aziraphale’s was slow, even though you used the public transport. Your biggest effort consisted in hanging from the Archangel’s arm as he dragged you here and there. By the time your head started to throb because of the deceiving bright daylight, the door at the bookshop’s entrance looked like the curtain right before the dark, delightful promised land and you were a very-sick-with-the-desert Moses.

After the bell’s snitching chime and a quick look for a place to rest, Gabriel brushed your face with his fingers again, guiding you to sit on a very comfortable couch. You know, hadn’t you been absolutely fatigued, you’d be soaking up the affection like a sponge absorbed spilled water. It was just so unfair that Gabriel was being cute while you couldn’t enjoy it. The universe had nerfed you, the fucker.

“Do you need anything? We’ll probably be gone for a while, even if it’s just the back store...” he asked, and you had to smile at how eager and nervous he was, like a puppy facing his reflection on a mirror for the first time. Your gesture seemed to reassure him, but that didn’t stop him from bringing you another cushion that was laying around in the shop to fluff up your current nest.

“An aspiring would be nice.”

Your mind had been slow the whole morning, as if someone had filled your head with cotton balls, and you had dozed off a bit in the subway, and it was possible that you had done just the same right now because right after you blinked Gabriel was holding a pill and a glass of water and offering them to you. “Anything else?”

An intern on their first day wouldn’t be this fretting, you thought. You shook your head and waved at him. “Go off, big guy. Take care of your stuff with Aziraphale, I’m just going to nap right here. Oh, but be _nice_ to him, the man is a literal angel.”

You heard Gabriel growl something under his breath, taking your glass away. You got more comfortable within the cushions and laughed a little at his bad humour. “‘Angel’ my left...”

Gabriel snapped his fingers and the glass disappeared in the air without a trace, not worried at you witnessing anything with how steady your breathing was already. The shop was dimly lit, some candles glowing in the gloom despite the early hour -they were scented, of course, as Aziraphale favoured the smell of cinnamon over any other-, and he found the angel the moment he turned around, waiting patiently to get his attention. A quick inspection told him the blonde was tired, too, for whatever reason, and Gabriel wondered what the heck was going on Earth today.

“I take Crowley spoke to you?” was how he greeted him, and Aziraphale guided his superior towards the same sofas they had used during his last visit, although the Archangel refused any beverage this time, too busy stealing glances to the room where he had left you.

“Briefly,” the Principality confirmed. He had perceived the feelings coming from you as well, less intense than what he suspected Gabriel and Crowley had been subjected to, and his heart was already crying for you. “Is there anything I can do to help? I see she’s very distressed, and considering what I’ve heard...”

“You know more about humans than I do,” admitted Gabriel. Aziraphale sure hoped he did, with how stressed the look the Archangel had on his face was. He hadn’t seen an expression like that on his face since the Almostmaggedon, a year and a half ago. “If I described the symptoms to you, could you assist me in pinpointing a solution for her?”

“I can certainly try.”

Aziraphale had some ideas about what could be tormenting you, purely based on the information Crowley had given him, and he trusted the demon’s senses with his life. As Gabriel talked, painting the terrible picture of the severe episode of anxiety you had gone through with as much detachment as possible, his chest filled with pain and sorrow. He loved humanity, yes, but as everything in life, it had two sides, and you got to experience the ugly one in your own flesh. If he wasn’t sobbing by the time the quiet returned to the bookshop, only disturbed with the idle chat that came from the crowded streets, it was purely a matter of unbreakable will.

He gave Gabriel his thoughts, and his superior blinked dumbfounded at the conclusions he offered. “So, an anxiety attack? Therefore, it is possible to find a way to stop them. You said humans have developed treatments for these cases; there must be a method I can use.”

“That time I was talking about physical circumstances. I’m afraid mental misbalances, as this case involves, are usually related to the presence of triggers -either people or certain situations- in the surroundings of the, huh, victim,” cringed Aziraphale, coming up on the spot with the best explanation he could that would satisfy his boss.

As he spoke, he was able to see something not many creatures had survived. Both in Heaven and on Earth, angels’ fury was depicted as something terrible, a judgement no one desired to be exposed to or, God forbid, be the reason it happened. That was what the Bible revealed, and no holy authority had ever disagreed with it. However, there were no known records about what the consequences awakening an Archangel’s ire could be. Glancing into Gabriel’s eyes, now dark and clouded like a raging storm as the atmosphere in his bookshop got even darker, the air buzzing around them in a frenzy like a charged Taser, Aziraphale now knew why.

Honestly, if he were in the receiving end of what Gabriel was machinating, he would be fucking terrified.

* * *

Crowley slithered out of bed to the kitchen, shapeshifted into a human form and drowned his migraines with a generous glass of scotch. Ugh, every time his conscience decided to speak up meant a bad time for everyone. It should just stay fucking quiet.

He missed Aziraphale terribly. Anything was better with his angel around, even waking up after a night of crying and standing butt naked on the kitchen’s tiled floor. Generally, being butt naked around his angel was good, satisfying. It got _reactions_ from him.

...He had to go see him, you know, after yelling at his plants a little while. It was always a nice warmup for the drivers on the road.

Crowley was someone who cared not for the physical sense of time -six thousand years of pinning would do that to anyone desperate enough-, and he had that fancy and really expensive collection of watches just for fashion. He had never changed their batteries since he acquired them, not even once. Thus, picking an appropriate outfit to face the day and matching his accessories with it was just something he did out of habit. It was the excuse he used to fool himself and gain some calm time to think things through, and it had worked for him for centuries.

...He really hoped you had taken his advice to see Aziraphale, but deep down he knew you wouldn’t. Because why would you? You probably refused to step anywhere near where _he_ could be, if your confrontation at the angel’s shop was anything to go by. Crowley couldn’t really blame you. He had been an absolute dick to you. And that’s why he was the one who had to visit his beloved! So, he could help him craft an apology good enough for you to not kick his ass the next time he faced you.

That’s what he hoped, at least.

How shameful, a demon hoping. He was the laughingstock in Hell by now.

The drive to the bookshop was silent on his part, but his mind was loud as a hive, and he blasted the music through the speakers in order to drown the moral impulses that threatened to come after him. It was a bit too late for him to grow ethics anyway. Not that he cared for them.

Imagine his surprise -the fucking _heart attack-_ when, walking mindlessly, he found you laying down on his favourite couch. He took a few moments to regain his composure, fucking startled because what the fuck were you doing there, when you should be as far from him as London’s disposition would allow.

You breathed softly, unbothered by his mere presence and kept being unconscious to the world.

Crowley hummed, lips twitching. If you were there, then of course Gabriel would be as well. He inspected you carefully, as if regretful, with a sideways glance. You looked as if a truck had run you over with passion, with that clammy skin and the bags under your eyes. Your face was set in an uncomfortable frown, most likely caused by the nightmares he could still feel on you, and you stank of apprehension, worry and self-doubt.

He was a demon, he knew those stenches far too well, and his little, dry and black heart quivered with compassion. Crowley despised feeling like that; he was usually pretty proud of the despair he caused in others, and all the arguments and quarrels that awoke wherever he stepped, but the serpent hadn’t really meant to hurt you. I mean, he _did,_ but only because he thought you deserved it. Now it was just frivolous and unnecessary.

...was your suffering his fault? Was this his doing?

Boy, had God been right when She had kicked him out of-

Crowley shook those idiotic thoughts out of his head, knowing that there was no point in dwelling in the past at this point. There was no redemption waiting for him, and if he wanted you to forgive him, he would have to work for it. Drowning in his own torments wouldn’t help anyone.

With a sigh, he summoned a chair besides the couch and sat his skinny ass down, snapping his fingers to shoo away the bad dreams haunting you. It was the least he could do at this moment, and he picked his phone and readied to wait for the angels to come out of the back of the shop. He really tried his best not to think that Gabriel was slaughtering Aziraphale, groaning out loud every time he perceived his own fear in the air.

“...chill out already with the growls. I’m trying to sleep here.”

“Fuck!” Crowley yelped, tripping with his own legs and the chair and falling to the floor gracelessly. You gave him a funny look, lazily sitting up using your elbows. To his relief, you looked far better awake, more energized than the suffering expression you had when asleep. A small consolation for the ten years of life he would have lost had he been mortal. “What th’ Hell? Since when are ya’ awake? Coulda’ said something!”

“I just said something, use your ears.”

You definitely didn’t have the energy to face Crowley, and with one last look in his direction and a huff, you covered your eyes with your arm and got comfortable once again, one hundred percent ready to doze off again until Gabriel returned.

Insecurity overcame Crowley, questioning if he should talk to you now, when you weren’t giving him murder eyes, before anything else of terrible origin happened to you, or wisely wait to prepare his apology in a nice way instead of winging it up. The first option was tense, but better for him, and the second would have lame results for a fact. He cringed, knowing what he was going to do and already foreseen the massive train wreck it was going to produce. He should just shut up.

“I owe ya’ an apology” the demon blurted, hating with all his soul how stupid his nervous voice sounded. “But, ah, I don’t have it ready yet, if you catch my drift... I- I gotta work on it. But! I want ya’ to know I want to apologize! If, ugh, fuck, ya’ know what I mean.”

Even if you showed no sign of hearing him, you were mussing over his words. You had missed Crowley with your life: his jokes, his sass, his saucy attitude and his shameless snarks, and you wanted them back. You would be so ready to just say yes and hug him and forgive his actions it was ridiculous. And, when you realized that, you understood that you just couldn’t do it, and that he was right. His apology was a disaster and all over the place, rushed and clumsy like a new-born colt. You were sick of people just assuming they could do whatever they felt like it with your feelings; first him, then the stupid group of racist bullies in the restaurant and both your bosses. If you accepted his words and gave in, what was stopping him from treating you like trash every time he had an argument with Gabriel? Nothing at all.

You wanted him back, but not like this.

“You’re right, that was lame” was your reply, and the snake made an apprehensive whimper. “I had the worst week and it’s only Tuesday- no, shut it, I’m talking now. I had the worst week and I can’t just say yes and have things back they way they were. That’s not how it works. You hurt my feelings really bad, man. I can’t- fuck, I can’t forgive you just like that. Give me a reason to. Prove to me that whatever bullshit you have with Gabriel and your companies won’t affect us, that we can be friends and none of that crap will interfere between us.”

“It won’t.”

“Those are just words,” you retorted bitterly, “and _anybody_ can say them. Without actions they mean nothing.”

“...Y’know what? That’s fair.”

Despite how uncomfortable the conversation turned out, now both of you were kinda happy. Reassured, at least. Crowley now had a chance to make his mistakes up to you and you got a valid reason to let him finally go and move on. You returned to your sleepy business and Crowley picked his phone, secretly cheering like a kid at the lack of negative vibes coming from you.

As the scent of Heaven approached, delicate and inviting warm combined with the stillness of winter, the demon confirmed the presence of the Archangel in the bookshop. He saw the two angels emerge from the back, grim faces and tense postures betraying the feelings of distress they emitted. Crowley didn’t say anything, too surprised at being able to sense all that. Only his compatibility with Aziraphale and the friendly disposition he offered had allowed him to ever feel his emotions, and it was a very recent event. The fact that he could feel Gabriel’s was baffling and disconcerted him greatly. Either the Archangel had lowered the barriers that protected his celestial matter, or his humour was far too intense to disguise it.

They shook hands, and Crowley swapped his place at your side to make room for Gabriel, giving the angel a wide berth to walk. He was never known for his bad temper or lack of control, but the serpent was not dumb enough to risk his life by betting in the way of his path. He walked quickly to greet Aziraphale, talking in shushed tones.

“Good morning my dear boy. It’s so good to see you up and about” whispered the angel, a gentle smile both in his voice and on his face. Crowley sighed, much shyer about physical contact with a Heavenly authority around but basked in the touch of the blonde on his face. He pressed a light kiss on his partner’s temple, a tiny smile showing up.

“...I talked to ‘er. Ya’ were right, she’s giving me a chance” he confessed.

As the two talked, tuckered in the hallway and comforting each other as Aziraphale shared the news about the conversation he had just had with his superior, Gabriel approached you, his worry soothed by the soft calmness radiating from you.

“That demon didn’t bother you none? Are you feeling alright?” he asked, reclining over you.

You insisted in giving him a negative, shaking your head side to side. “He wants to make up for our fight, I’m giving him a chance.”

“Did he apologize?”

You giggled a little, sitting up. “He’s even worse than you at it.”

The Archangel brushed his hair back into place and rolled his eyes. How could you be this absurd even in these situations always got to him. “I never do anything that requires an apology. My actions are always well-thought and careful.”

The way you smiled at him made Gabriel feel inadequate, like you knew something he didn’t. Sometimes you had that look too, and whatever it meant he was at least happy to feel the stress waves that surrounded you lessening. He had never known how much your argument with the demon actually bothered you and was glad that weight was now off your shoulders.

“You’re always so sure that you’re the hottest shit around, it’s hilarious.”

“I am quite a presence to notice.”

“Yeah, now it just seems you’re haunting the place.”

“Oh, you think you’re so funny.”

Following a goodbye that was quickly turning into a routine, Aziraphale and Crowley rushed to the windows again to see you disappear, talking again about take out food and whatnot while your hands rested comfortable and familiar in the crook of the Archangel’s arm.

“The relationship they have it’s quite peculiar, I’ll admit that.”

Crowley shook his head, done with his questions about what the fuck was ever going on. “Forget about their relationship and help me write a proper apology down, angel. If I fuck up again, Gabriel will make me shallow my own kneecaps.”

* * *

You had to work the next day, and while your mood was still a bit down, Crowley’s intentions had done wonders for you. It had been like finally getting out an unreachable thorn. Things were fucking back on track, as they should, and you were so relieved you didn’t have to keep fighting him you didn’t even get angry at how awkward Robbie was the moment he saw you.

You remembered the awful interaction you had with him two days ago, and he avoided for a few hours, until he realised you weren’t going to bite his face off. It was really weird to see a guy that buffed acting so squeamish.

“I’m just really-”

“Shut up, Robs, we’re good. Pass me that sandwich, kid on table three is screaming about something and I’m trying to give him an actual reason to cry.”

You were using your most faithful weapon against society and it was being a savage. And, boy, were you rocking it.

Lunch rush finished and Robbie had teamed up with a few of the cooks to get you to laugh, joking around and going to such extremes as to juggle a bunch of tomatoes. Sandra, the kitchen apprentice, was really good at it, you all discovered. Your boss had stayed all day secluded in his studio in radio silence, and the excitement in the kitchen was impossible to miss. Days like this were awesome, and the mood in the restaurant, despite the stress that real work implied, was over the roof.

You were accompanying Robbie through the backdoor when the chef whistled at you, waving her hand excitedly. A waiter, close friend of Robbie’s, rushed into the kitchen with a cheeky smile. “Someone’s asking for you out there. Had you seen that guy?”

You scrunched your nose, already smelling trouble. “Who the Hell would be-?”

“Is it Chris?” was Robbie’s first question -he had informed his group of friends about the problems they had been giving you, and now they were organized and ready to throw punches with the first douche that crossed the door-, but the waiter shook his head vigorously.

“Nah, man. He looks like a CEO? I don’t know, but he’s fucking hot.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t dare,” you mumbled, and your heart climbed up to your throat. You ran to the door and peeped outside to the serving area. As you suspected, there was Gabriel, scarf and coat and everything, waiting by the door as if nothing could bother him.

Robbie followed you as if a rope tied you together by the hip and imitated your actions; he scanned the room and quickly pinpointed where you were looking at, inspected you again and yowled. “Why the fuck are you making that face? Are you blushing? Is that your boyfriend?”

“Shut up, Robert,” you hissed, pushing his teasing face away and retreating to the kitchen’s safety. “He’s my roommate!”

“...Oh, so not yet. But what about that other guy? The one you sat with to eat, blonde and cute? Are you dating him, too?”

“Oh, the hot professor with the bowtie!” jumped his friend, ogling you like an owl high on coke.

“That’s a friend’s boyfriend and I’ve told you all that trice already! Get your nose away from my private life, you gossipy whores.”

“I feed on drama and you know it! Introduce us!”

You pushed both Robbie and his friend, as well as the nosy chef, back inside the kitchen. The last thing you wanted was for them to overwhelm poor Gabriel -or you, which was far more plausible with how little Gabriel cared about social cues- with their questions and general stupidity. They whined and play-fought with you, but in the end surrendered and went for a smoke, complaining about how mean and selfish you were being.

Gabriel stood there at the door like a cute alien, and only perked up from wherever his mind had taken him when you approached and guided him to an empty corner in your assigned area, far enough from the last, stubborn customers that were still busy with their desserts to have a decent, private conversation.

“It’s good to see you here.”

You grinned at his happy face. “This is my workplace, of course you’d see me here. How come you’re visiting?”

“I was curious about this place” he shrugged nonchalantly. “Aziraphale mentioned the food being good.”

“And how about you give me the real reason now? I’ve been telling you this place is good since forever” you playfully outed him, and he had the decency to look away, although he didn’t seem to be ashamed to be caught red-handed at all. “You aren’t even pretending to look at the menus and you had plenty of time to pretend to be interested in the food. People usually just find a place to sit when they come into a place where food is served and wait to be attended. You’re just bad at lying, Gabe.”

“I didn’t think of that...” the Archangel admitted, rolling his eyes. “Alright, fine. I’m here in case the people that almost got you killed with their car show up, is that what you desired from me?”

Gabriel checked your confused face, with the light traces of a disappearing blush still gracing your expression. He had perceived your embarrassment earlier, when you were in the kitchen and he couldn’t see you and was happy at how the previous stress choking you seemed even less present than before. For whatever reasons, your day had been nice, and that comforted him. Now, he just had to wait for those horrible humans to appear -if they did that today-, _convince_ them that they needed to leave you alone -he was aware of how some creatures found his appearance and size intimidating depending on the context, and planned to take advantage on it- and with that he would have you happy again. Easy as one, two, three.

And, in the rare occasion that it wouldn’t work, he had enough rage to wipe an entire city off the map, and he was ready to miracle their pathetic existence from Earth. Not many celestial beings dared to perform big scale miracles anymore, wary of the cameras that humans had located everywhere, but solving that problem was as manageable as to make the source of your distress never exist.

“But... what are you talking about, G? I...” You shook your head at him, trying to organize your thoughts. “Listen, thank you, really, but I told you I’d call the police if things went south, you didn’t have to come all the way here, and just waste your time so.”

Now it was his time to shake his head, adamant but perplexed as why you wouldn’t understand the point he was trying to make. It was so simple! He had the ability and the will to stop whatever troubled you, and even if you didn’t know his real nature, you were aware he was supposed to be a man in a position of power. He could do things for you. He could snap his fingers and alleviate your pain so easily it was insulting. And yet you insisted in leaving it in the hands of a bunch of incompetent humans that served a fallible system? He clicked his tongue at your stubbornness.

“I can make things better” he explained, gesturing vividly with his hands. “These people have been bothering you, and that’s not right, and we both know it. You had been suffering for their actions, and no, don’t try to deny it. What happened the other day was proof enough. Their behaviour is making you suffer bad enough to trigger your anxiety into an actual attack. I’ve been reading about it. The solution is so easy! It’s just removing the cause of your distress. I can do that; I can help you. I _want_ to help you. I love you and care about you and if I can do something- No, stop that. Why are you crying? This isn’t meant to make you _cry_. It’s the opposite!”

“Fuck, Gabriel” you laughed, voice tiny but amused at his panicked tone. You couldn’t help it. He had come to your work and gave you this speech and stayed at your side when you had your stupid anxiety yelling over any reason or serotonin your brain tried to produce. He was here, caring and fucking insisting that he could make things better like he was some kind of warrior wizard with magic powers. He was so sure of himself, so fucking confident. You were _touched,_ and now you were trying your hardest not to break into sobs because this was your place of work and you really despised crying in public, but he was looking at you like a kid who had just broken a very important family relic and your poor heart just couldn’t take it anymore.

You loved him so fucking _much._

“Please, don’t do that.” Gabriel cradled your face with his hands as if you were going to break, shushing you nervously and wiping the sneaky tears with his thumbs, not knowing what else to do. Aziraphale had recommended him to act upon what he thought was better for you, and he knew that providing a safe work environment -the main source of your distress- would be the first step. He had been meaning to do something about it for months now. The Principality hadn’t said anything about you weeping. He didn’t mean to make you cry, why were you doing it! “Don’t cry, just don’t cry.”

It was so confusing! Why-? What-? You were radiating happiness like crazy, and the Archangel didn’t know what was happening anymore. He didn’t know how that worked. How could tears and happiness be associated? It was one thing or the other! A wave of love came from you, so strong and intense it almost made his knees fail.

You held his hands there on your cheeks, and kissed one of his palms out of instinct, grabbing his turtleneck and pulling him closer to hugging range. You had a dumb smile on and slithered your hands up his back as he kept spluttering excuses and shushing your laughing sobs. He started patting you wherever he could, from your back to your head, and brushing your hair, his actions insecure and full of doubt. How did you deserve this man, so big, so clueless yet so willing to help? When had you had this kind of luck?

“I love you too” you whispered against his chest, and Gabriel shuddered breathlessly.

“... I know that” he replied, finally resting his arms on your shoulders in the clumsiest hug you had ever been subjected to. It seemed you were going to stay there for a while, at least until you could clean your face off tears, or you were sure the customers had stopped looking at you like you were an improvised novela. “You’re not very discrete.”

“Shut up, you’re the worst.”

Robbie hissed when his friend jabbed his ribs, gawking from the kitchen entrance. They had to fight some cooks and Sandra herself to get to see what had gotten so much attention in the serving area, and now the guy was fucking squeaking like a schoolgirl. “I _told_ you they’re fucking dating! I told you!”

“She said they’re not!” shouted in a whisper Robbie, pushing the annoying guy away from him.

“You gotta be kidding me, use your bloody eyes and look at them. I don’t care what she says, she lied to your face. Oh, man, I’m so down for this ship.”

“Get off the internet already and talk like a real person. They’re roommates.”

“Go fuck yourself, they’re in love.”

“Shut up.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's IT. 
> 
> IT FINALLY HAPPENED!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> Don't have much hope because they're both stupid and think it's all platonic. They have frienzoned each other. Fuck, they're so frustrating! I'm the author and it ANGERS me.
> 
> WE HAVE FANART! And you can find it in my art blog in Tumblr (@kuvvydraws). You can also contact me thorugh my main, trash blog (@yatinga). It makes me so happy when you guys talk to me! <3
> 
> [I'm planning ahead -WAY AHEAD- but I did say we'll be having smut here. I want to know if you guys want me to warn about it in the tags, in the chapter's title, if you want some '*****' visual warning before it happens, or if you consider better to just integrate it within the general narration and flow.... You know, that kinda thing B)]
> 
> [[BTW, DO LEAVE IN THE COMMENTS SOME KINKS YOU GUYS WANT TO EXPLORE WITH THE BITCHASS ARCHANGEL AND I'LL TRY MY BEST TO GET THEM IN THE FIC. STAY THIRSTY, PEOPLE <3]]
> 
> \-----------  
> Smex update section [it won't happen anytime soon, just so you know]:  
> · I'll write a (*) in the chapters that will have smut to warn you guys.  
> ·Praise kink (for both)  
> · Hair-pulling (for Gabriel)  
> ·Dom/Bossy (for Gabriel)  
> ·Accidental stimulation (for Gabriel)


	17. Fly Me To The Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of gorey drama but a lot of fluff to compensate. Things start to get frisky in the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my guys~
> 
> Not much to say today, so enjoy the fluff and the teasing and whatnot and I'll see you in the end notes!

Heaven was a remarkably strict... organization, to put it in kind words. There were many things its rules approved, and another relevant number of acts that were frowned upon. These rules, as everything in existence, had evolved and changed with time, and the creatures subjected to them had changed equally. In the early days, when everything was new and shiny and certain behaviours were expected by the higher circles, small mistakes could be considered terrible aggravations and, their consequences, absolutely dreadful.

Of course, after the huge purge that was the Rebellion and the Fall, the angels that remained upstairs were even warier and more proper than ever, and new mandatory behaviours were stablished to prevent further uprisings. In the beginning it was mostly to differentiate themselves from the fallen ones, that’s true, but it gave them a specific personality, some concrete traits they had to follow. Eventually, everyone ended up shrugging and going with it, absorbing the stereotypes as if that was the intended idea from the start. If the demons were loud and rowdy, the angels were quiet and serene; if ones were dirty and nasty, the others transformed themselves in the epitome of cleanliness and elegancy... You catch the drift.

It had turned into a childish competition with no winners, only fuelled with spite and idiocy.

Yet, despite all this antagonizing, some acts were just part of them, and neither angels nor demons could avoid it, no matter how much they wanted to justify their peeves with their own reasons. It wasn’t part of the ethos God had put in them; they were just stubborn and chaotic and utterly stupid. The Almighty usually got angry at this, but She had taken a liking to not interfering too much with these matters anymore because it was just frustrating.

That’s right. God was sick of them all, but She wasn’t going to tell.

The point is, regardless of their final location, no immortal creature of a certain relevance welcomed touch. That was it. Demons associated physical, non-harmful touches with weakness, and they had a certain image to maintain: Humanity wasn’t going to intimidate itself into sinning, and nobody was going to go off in a rampant murder strike because two people with pointy tails holding hands told them to do it.

On the other hand, angels up in Heaven considered physical affections to be an external show of lack of control, and it was plainly undignifying. Why would anyone display those kinds of practices in a common area, there in front of the rest of Heaven and the Holy Court? Humiliating _and_ unnecessary, thank you very much.

In the end, the only mechanism both offices had found to palliate the ever-present need of boldly bonding in physical circumstances was with some lame human excuses adapted to their assumed characteristics, that is, quarrels in Hell and stiff handshakes up in Heaven. To this date, both methods remain proving themselves astoundingly unsuccessful.

Yes. The solution was laughable at most.

It made no one happy. Like, at all. But angels and demons were old dogs by now, and they refused to learn any new tricks.

(God cringes really hard at this, just to let you know. She is very _not_ happy with this result, but at least Crowley and Aziraphale were playing their part right. A small consolation.)

Gabriel had agreed with this ‘lack of touch’ thingy since the very beginning, and he had done it wholeheartedly. Of course, as directive enforcer of Heaven thanks to his position as an Archangel, he had been convinced of these beliefs. He had seen no reason to touch his partners, and everyone upstairs understood this as well, for they were driven by love and love only, and love had no requirements beyond letting the others know about it. Which, in retrospective, was an easy thing for an angelic hive with the ability of sensing emotions.

You, on the other hand, cared _not_ for this kind of rules.

It had taken Gabriel many months to get used to you and your particular affective mannerisms. It was natural for your species, after all, since humans were exceptionally social and had no other methods beyond physical gestures and words to let others know about their emotional status. The Archangel had found this pack-animal behaviour to be a nuisance, although he dared not criticise his creator’s work. She had reasons beyond his own comprehension, and if humans were this pitifully simple it was surely for a reason.

He had been uncomfortable and wary of these touches, and you had kindly respected his lack of interest in engaging in physical activities. Gabriel had been quite thankful, and he had relaxed eventually. That was his first mistake: one should never grow lax in an unwelcoming environment such as Earth. 

But he had, nonetheless, and suddenly you touching him was a regular thing. His hands, his arms, his legs and even his face; you were relentless. Even while you always seemed to know when to stop, when your presence became too much for him and he needed you to retreat, you always came back. And he had gotten used to that, too. So accustomed, in fact, that he sometimes missed your weight against his arm, or the light touch of your thin fingers on his knee.

Gabriel had been very careful! He had let not one thing slip out, yet it was as if the stars had aligned against his will. It had been only your hand by his shoulder, or a brief brush against his elbow to catch his attention. Then, before he realised it had happened, he was the one crooking his arm to offer your hands a place to rest while walking. And realising tugging on your fingers was the most effective manner to guide you to places had been his irremediable downfall. From then on, his will and resistance were doomed to fail.

Despite this obvious -but innocuous- _vulnerability,_ Gabriel was not as fond of physical restrains, though, and that meant exclusively hugs. This reluctance didn’t mean he was unable to react to them, as he was strong and breaking your hold would be extremely easy for someone like him. It wasn’t about _that_. The tea was about the reactions in his body: the shivers, the warm, the fondness and the desire to touch back. It was maddening, and confusing and so _frustrating._ He had seen people hug on the streets -humans were incredibly careless about where and how they showed their affections, duh- and no one did it the same, shameless way you did. They wrapped their arms around each other, squeezed and let go.

You _didn’t_.

Every time you wanted to hug him; it drove him crazy. No matter the speed -if a quick goodbye hug or the start of a movie-cuddling session-, you always went through the same steps. Your hands started at his hips, palms flat against his body, and either trailed up, tracing his sides and flushed to his form until you reached his back, latching securely there, or you rested them at the small of his back, your face smooshed against his chest. And, each single time, you gave him _that_ look.

He had no fucking idea what it meant, but that it did have a meaning? Yes, yes it did.

Gabriel had considered asking you about it more than once; you had a solid background of answering uncomfortable questions backing you up, and even if that wasn’t enough, you were actually unable to deny him anything, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. So, why did he never bring it up? There were so many occasions... But the thought slipped away from his mind every time, as if his brain confabulated against him.

Right now, for example. The Archangel had your right there, head resting comfortably against his shoulder and body fully tuckered into what you had called caterpillar-burrito mode -it was just you fully rolling yourself up inside a blanket, but you had cultivated your skills for years and now your wrapping was flawless and incredibly efficient-, eyes stuck to the terrible film that was being played on the screen. Asking you now would be just right.

...But what if you stopped doing it? 

He didn’t want that either, if we were being honest. Being able to touch you brought great comfort to him, and he had gotten so comfortable with it that he searched for it himself in certain occasions. Well, he encouraged you to go to him. But it was kind of the same. He just had to seat at the kitchen table or on the couch and groan slightly and you would be already on him, hands on his or stroking his arms or... To put it short, you did a lot of things.

He was still surprised he didn’t feel overwhelmed or disgusted by them, but that was a can of worms he didn’t want to open.

The Archangel nudged you, stretching to grab the remote on the other side of the couch. “Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”

You peeked an eye out of the cocoon, pouting to the roof at the thought. You had been about to doze off, cosy and warm, and your voice was sleepy. “Yeah, wedding’s on the menu. Robbie’s picking me up.”

“Go to bed then” he recommended, reaching for you and fighting the tiny hands that stopped him from untangling the blanket. You groaned at him, tugging back and hiding inside again. “Come out and go brush your teeth or I’ll drop you in your room like that.”

“Ha! As if you’d- Gabriel, put me down!” you squirmed, wiggling in your prison like a slug that had been subjected to a salty torture. Your protests weren’t very effective because you were giggling like a child and, yeah, that might had taken some of your credibility away, but you just found incredibly funny how ready your roommate was to pick you up whenever. It was like it cost him no effort to lift you up like that! And it’s not like he could fool you anyway, you could see him smiling from there! “No! C’mon! It’s not even midnight. I was comfy!”

Gabriel juggled with you despite your blabbering and dropped you on your messy bed with no qualms about the bouncing factor. You ended up hitting your face with the wall, unable to move any of your extremities from your fluffy prison. Gabriel rolled you over and brushed the hair out of your face with his brows raised in a smug fashion. “Are you ready to come out yet? That was quite a bump.”

“You’ll pry this blanket from my dead, cold hands, and only under those circumstances” you stuck your tongue out at him, blowing a raspberry and receiving a well-earned eye roll.

“Or I can tickle you out of it.”

“I surrender” you blurted instantly. “Here, have it; you’re an amazing negotiator.” You had discovered a new hobby this last week, and that was complimenting Gabriel. It was shameful how long it had taken you to find out how hard he beamed when you threw some kind words at him; you could see the straight lines in his face soften, and his eyes acquired a very beautiful, gentle glow. It wasn’t even about making elaborate sentences; as long as you meant whatever you said, the effect was immediate. This time was no different, and you squeaked, fighting how much you wanted to squish his dumb face in your hands. Instead, you wrestled the blanket, attempting to get out of your self-imposed prison. “...A’ight, help me out? I’m stuck.”

He felt around, twisting your body from here and there to try and find the edges of the blanket with little success. “How did you achieve this tightness? I saw you roll yourself in this, where does the blanket end?”

You gasped mockingly, wiggling again. For whatever reason, you didn’t sound very alarmed. “Oh, no. What shall we do? If it means I must remain a caterpillar forever, I will surrender to that awful fate, although with great reluctance. Ah, no more work or bedtime. Such a terrible future awaits!”

“I can see you holding the corners. Give them to me.”

“Bite me!”

* * *

“I didn’t know you were this clumsy, Robs.”

“Shut up, I’m trying my hardest” he protested, and then bit his tongue and shook his head, giving you a pity look. “God, I’m sorry, I know you’re, like, very high right now.” Your friend held you against the wall besides your apartment’s door with one hand by your collarbone while he explored your pockets with the other. You snorted a stupid laugh through your nose, tilting your head back to try and stop the building from wobbling anymore, eyes unfocused. He tugged at your pants one more time, fumbling again. “Why are you always complaining about girl clothes and the pockets. Yours are deep as the bloody ocean! Where are your keys!”

You held your dramatically bandaged hands up in the air and shrugged, slurring your words; “dunno’, man. I saw them like yesterday. Whatcha’ telling me? Can’t find them?”

“Nope; they’re definitely not in your pockets.” You laughed again and he grunted. “Fuck, you’re so high. How many fingers do I have?”

“A total of twenty, I hope.”

“I mean here, raised” he deadpanned, putting his hand closer to your face. Instead of inspecting the obvious three fingers, you started humming a song. “Hey, pay attention here.”

“I dunno’, man; I dunno’ yer’ life!”

“Your roomie is going to have my fucking head” Robbie lamented, and returned to his search.

“...Did ya’ try my bag pack?” Your head waggled again, hanging weakly from your neck like a pendulum as your tried to point at the object by your feet. You saw your hands again, and a lightbulb of an idea flickered faintly in your mind “...damn, did I call Gabriel about this? He’s gonna flip his shit so bad.”

“Didn’t you call him last night?” retorted Robbie by your feet, now struggling with your bag. Oops, you should have warned him about the stubborn zippers. Yikes.

“I think so? But it was to tell ‘im I was gonna stay at the open bar. Fuck, can ya’ get my phone?”

“Not now, drunkie, I’m still trying to find your- aha! Here they are!”

“Victory for the weirdo!” you cheered, whistling. “Now get me my phone? I don’t even know if he’s home or if he’s out... What time is it?”

“It’s like, huh, eight-thirty? I’m sure he’s home-”

“Nope, he’s out” you corrected Robbie, amused with how little he knew about your roommate. Boy, was that dumb. Wasn’t it your fault, tho? You never told them about him... But that’s alright, Gabriel was supposed to be _your_ secret. You didn’t want to share him. Fuck, who had swapped the floor? You didn’t remember it being this fucking uneven. Oh, right; that was probably water leaking from the plumbing system deforming the wood. Or! Or, listen, it could totally be the morphine you had been administrated messing with your senses. “Dang, Robs, you done with that door yet?”

“I can’t fight the right key, gimme’ a second! Why do you have so many of ‘em? You just need two or three!”

“Ah, those are from my parent’s house, y’know? I just keep them all together, so they don’t get lonely.”

“Aha, obvious reasoning, how could I not see that.”

If you’re curious to know, Gabriel had, indeed, gone jogging. He really didn’t expect to come back to such a scene, however. He had just wanted to shower, nothing else. To what he returned was both you and Robbie pitifully hanging at the front of your shared apartment, clear signs of exhaustion due to the all-nighter shift of working you two had pulled.

The first thing he noticed, to his absolute horror, were your hands, bandaged as if you had inserted them in a mincer.

The Archangel rushed the last flight of stairs in huge steps, hurrying to your side and grabbing your wrists as delicately as he could. Robbie, not expecting such a speed out of nowhere, stumbled to the side, gawking at the huge man, but Gabriel paid no attention to him. “Good Almighty, _what happened to you?_ ”

“Gaby!” you slurred, instantly aiming to snuggle against his chest. “Ah, so sorry I couldn’t call ya’. I fought the dinner service, y’know? But they were so mean and strong, and I lost!”

Gabriel gestured towards Robbie, who was now upright again, and pointed him which key should he use to open the door. He was busy holding you up now that your sloshed brain had decided that if he was there your legs didn’t have to support you anymore. “Can you explain this?”

“She tripped while carrying a crate of plates and they all shattered. We just came from the hospital. No stitches, luckily, but her hands are flayed; they drugged her for good measure so she wouldn’t feel any pain. She’s on medical leave for at least the rest of the week, and here is the medicine she’s gotta take, we made a quick stop by a pharmacy.” Robbie carried the bag inside, to the kitchen, but dared not go further inside the apartment, backing up towards the door instead. “Again, if she says weird stuff it’s the drug talking, the docs gave her quite a high dose of painkillers.”

Gabriel dismissed him with a nod, slowly guiding you to the couch by your forearms, extremely mindful of your wounds; the smell of blood and chemists stung his nose sharply. You kept giggling and tripping with your own feet. “Ah. Thank you for bringing her home, your actions are greatly appreciated. You may leave now.”

The Archangel ignored the tale-telling click of the door closing, preferring to focus on you. The shirt you wore was wrinkled beyond ironing, and the chemical stench of the hospital facility -familiar to Gabriel though he had only been in one once- was all over you. To his relief, even if your mind was under the influence of these ‘drugs’, you were really careful about where you put your hands and kept them close and cradled against your chest to avoid bumping into anything, so he assumed they had to hurt quite bad.

You attempted to snuggle with him once more, your movements slow and awkward. “Ah, man, the word’s spinning really fast right now.”

Gabriel sighed at your silly voice, unsure about what he had to do. For now, just letting you use him as a pillow seemed to be enough, as your position had already revealed. “Do you, by chance, remember anything the doctors told you?”

“Uh-huh. Gotta clean these bad guys once a day” you confirmed, showing him your hands, and then said something in a different language in a very uncoordinated fashion. You linked two or three more sentences together, a few words in English scattered in between, and then you voice faded as you stared blankly the floor in front of you. Gabriel blinked at you and you seemed to catch on, thinking for a few second before trying again, accent thick. “Sorry ‘bout that. My brain feels like a slushy. Can you help me out of this shirt? It smells yucky.”

The Archangel obliged, and once he threw the garment in your laundry basket, he carried you to your room. You, for some reason, found this hilarious, and giggled during the short trip, legs wrapped around your roommate’s hips as he had to change his grip from your armpits to your thighs to stop you from squirming too much. “Just sit down here, quit moving and guide me through your drawers. Where do you store your sleeping wear?”

“My what?”

“Sleeping wear” he repeated patiently.

“I don’t have that, Big Guy. What on Earth are- Oh, wait, wait. You mean my pj’s!” You laughed again, following his hand when he brushed your hair out of your face like a spoiled cat, and smiled cheekily at his expression. “Check over there, there’s probably a big-ass shirt in that drawer.”

In the end, Gabriel had to help you put that on, as well as going through the drama of getting your bra off, because you were adamant about not sleeping with it. You had never seen his face flustered like that, red as a fucking tomato. “Just go to sleep! I’ll close the curtains and-”

“Come back here, you coward” you huffed, offering him your back and lifting your shirt poorly. “Just reach up and unclasp it and I’ll do the rest!”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“Well, you’re about to learn. Hands up my shirt until you feel the- The, uh, the clasp’s on the back of the bra, Gabe. Get your hands off my tits now.”

“I’m sorry!” he whined, fingers soft and trembling against your skin. He quickly took them back, as if you had burned him. “I don’t- There must be-”

“Hands up my _back_ and feel the fabric” you cut him, gesturing with your head, and you were very pleased with how eager he was to follow your orders; “around the middle, you should find the clasp, and you just gotta unhook it. If I can do it with one hand, you can do it with two.”

“This is the first time I do this! Have a little patience!”

...Well, that was juicy information. You guided him again, reassuring him that he was doing great while you felt his hands skim over your back. You had to focus, goddammit. Stupid painkillers filling your brain with cotton balls. His hands were so warm. “There! Right there, you found it. Now twist it and we’ll both be free. Boom! Atta’ boy.”

Gabriel kept his gaze respectfully away from your body as you extracted your bra from under your shirt with a baffling lack of care or embarrassment. How could you-? His face as on fire! How could you be so nonchalant about it? You just-! Why were you so soft? The Archangel felt like he shouldn’t be thinking about that particular topic.

“Alright, I’m leaving. Goodnight.”

“It’s nine in the morning.”

“ _Goodnight._ ”

“No, wait, G. My pants and my socks! I already have the shirt on, c’mon!”

...You were trying to murder him.

“You can-!” But you were right, you couldn’t just unbutton the pants or handle the zipper or slip off your socks with your hands bandaged in the way they were, and you both knew it. He made quick work of it, eyes pointedly averted away, ran the curtains and helped you get under the covers, where you hugged his pillow tightly. He huffed a whine, distressed as you had never seen him. “Is that it? I’m leaving now.”

“Yup. Thanks so much, G. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re so helpful.”

Gabriel choked on your wave of love and made a painful, strangled sound as an answer. He wished you a good sleep once more and scurried out of your room, heartbeats pounding in his ears as loud as war-drums.

Never again.

Just.

_Ugh!_

* * *

After a whole day of sleep and the effect of the painkillers wore off, you were a surprisingly difficult patient. You wanted to do things all the time, absolutely willing to ignore any pain -constant, by the way- that haunted you. You wanted to cook, to write, to play cards. Gabriel’s suggestions, much mellower, controlled and thoughtful of your actual situation, bored you out of your mind. He was an absolute sweetheart, and followed you around, grabbing things for you without prompting, as if he could read your mind. He was being a bit overprotective, however, and you only got him to back off for ten minutes when you mentioned having to shower.

“But you can’t wet the bandages; it’d go against their intended purpose.”

“You bought new ones this morning. Zip it and hear me out, here’s the plan: take the bandages off, wrap my hands inside some plastic bags and I’ll do a quick cleaning of myself. Then, you help me treat the cuts and bandage me up again.”

“Not happening; the cuts could get infected with the dirt coming off you, it’s counter-productive.”

“Option B is you help me shower so I don’t have to wet my hands” you retorted, shrugging.

“... Do we even have bags that small?”

“We have the tiny ones from the pharmacy.”

Gabriel had a hard time with gore and blood, you discovered. Every time you winced or hissed when he pulled the bandages that had gotten stuck against your skin, he winced back. He also gasped lowly when inspecting for the first time the actual state of the wounds. Your palms were in the worst condition, scabbed all over with deep, painful-looking lacerations, and the gashes lessened more the higher up your fingers you went. His face was pale and heavily affected, but he was determined to assist you, and you ended up feeling terrible for him.

“No need to stay here, my dude. I can undress myself just right.”

The shower was the most complicated thing you had ever done, and probably one of the most painful ones, too. How do you wash your hair with bags on your hands? You can’t, you fucking cannot. And yet, defying all gods and bets, you went and did it anyway. Drying yourself was even harder, but you managed somehow, and covered yourself back with your long shirt before Gabriel chewed his nails down to the wrist. You could hear him fumbling across the door, nervously walking around, then stopping, then pacing again.

As you had suspected, he had the virgin gauze ready, and was sitting on the armrest on the sofa, leg bouncing wildly. He was fast to free you from the wet bags. “Your hair is all soaked, you’re going to get sick.”

“Easy, G. We’ll cross that bridge when it’s time. Did you look up how to do this thing right? The only thing I’ve ever wrapped are tortillas, and I’m not very good at it.” He indicated you to sit down and raise your hands, and you complied wordlessly.

“YouTube’s provided knowledge is extensive, just tell me if I’m doing it too tight.”

Gabriel had known human’s components were nasty, but this was just too much. The blood’s metallic smell was terrible, and he avoided looking into your open flesh as much as he could. That stuff was meant to stay _inside_ of you, eurgh. And the hematomas? You had hit your hands before cutting them! Should he apply the ointment too or just use the antiseptic solution? The video hadn’t said anything about it. You were in so much pain, good Lord.

“Please, go easy on the cuts? Is that alcohol? It stings” you pleaded, unmoving because you knew he was nervous enough, and his grip on your wrist became even lighter. Why were you this delicate? How had you survived on your own ‘till this date?

The Archangel blew on the cuts as you whimpered and did his best to bandage as lightly as possible, rather going with the gauze between your fingers instead of wrapping everything together to give you a bit more of mobility. He hadn’t exactly agreed with that idea, but you had begged him badly, pouting about the stupid mittens shape, and he was not made of stone. “There you go, now it’s hair time.”

“You sound a bit like a freak if you said it that way.”

“It has been said, and it shall stay said” he mussed, fetching a brush and a towel from the bathroom and sitting behind you. He had never done anyone’s hair beyond his own, but you were always complimenting him on it, so it shouldn’t be much of a deal. “You had left the bathroom as if a tornado had thrashed it.”

You hummed at his hands rubbing your scalp, tilting your head back, and then laughed when he covered your entire face with the towel. “Unfair, I can’t fight back!”

“I could tickle you to death and you’d have to take it” he agreed, picking the brush. You started radiating happy waves as he brushed your hair and fell back on him the moment he was done, having it your way despite his protests. “Your hair is still moist and you’re soaking my sweater.”

“Suck it up, I’m comfy” you replied, fumbling a little with the posture until you were fully seated, back against his chest and sprawled all over the place. “Binging time?”

“I can’t even reach the remote” he backtalked, giving up on trying to push you away. Gabriel had learned which battles he could win, and if you were seeking comfort this insistently then the war was already lost on his part. Your emotions purred loudly, a satisfied, smug thrum coursing through your body.

“Stretch your arms, you’re a big guy with long extremities. I have faith in you.”

* * *

It had been three days and you were getting noticeably better. Better enough to grow bold, at least. You were restless, and your hands only looked bad but felt much better, and you wanted to _do_ things. It was hard to do your stuff with Gabriel around, worse than a helicopter parent and ever watching, but your opportunity came the third day, when he decided he wanted to go for a midday jog after his morning one.

You did not comment on this, used to your roomie being a dopamine junkie, and rushed to your room the second he crossed the front door. There, inside a brittle plastic bag, you found your price. You had wanted to start this particular project for months now, and it had been difficult due to either the lack of time because of your work or the rest of the world conspiring against your wants. But there, right now, the glowing stickers shaped as stars winked back at you, side by side with the glow-in-the-dark tube of paint, full of mischief in their sickly yellow glory. 

You had the astronomical maps ready, had dragged a kitchen chair from its rightful location to your room and used a pencil to trace the basic positions of the glowing points and the lines that you intended to paint was constellations. If we must be honest, even if your hands weren’t bandaged, your lines would still be wobbly. You were bad at drawing, man, but you were having a blast, and were incredibly proud at the terrible sketch that now lived in your roof.

You climbed again on the chair, plastic sheet with stickers held between your teeth and your phone screeching music from your pants’ pockets and did your best at placing the stars. After five were in place, you were unable to stop your squeals. You had wanted to do this for so long! Ah! You were doing it and you were so happy! Your room was going to look like a fucking planetary at night and it was so cool!

The door’s lock jingled open as Gabriel entered the apartment again. He had tried to literally run away from his problems, as his worry for you and your state had not lessened one bit no matter how much your condition had improved. It was a good idea at first, but the second he had crossed two blocks his mind started racing again. He knew you were a bag of flesh only driven by impulses, and the second he took his eyes off you, you’d probably attempt to cook, or to reorganize the plant and the books in your collection, or to vacuum, or to mop… You were just a potential disaster waiting to happen. It was only a matter of time. 

The Archangel had hoped that, for ten minutes, you’d behave yourself, even if for his sake. As he entered and heard the music, he thought he was right, and you were just peacefully leisuring. Then, he realized one of the chairs in the kitchen was _not_ there, and his stomach dropped. He rushed to your room, clicking his tongue and clacking his teeth in a feeble attempt not to lose his cool. Whatever you were doing, he thought as he threw your room’s door open, you better be using the chair as a footrest or so help him God-!

“Gabe! You’re back!”

“What, on God’s good name, are you doing up there? Get down, get down!” Without waiting for you to follow his order, he picked you by the hip and settled you on the bed, snatching the plastic paper you had in your mouth. “Are you out of your mind? Your conditions is bad enough as it is, you could have fallen from there.”

You pouted at his unnecessary fuss, frowning when he took the chair and put it away. “I was taking precautions, you know?”

“You were dangling with one foot on the backrest. You even picked the wobbly chair, not the steady one!”

“Well, I can only do so much with my hands like this, dude. I wanted to do it quickly. Hey, what do you think about my roof? Turn off the light and I’ll close the curtains, I bet it’s looking dope already!”

He grabbed you by the shoulders and sat you down again, fuming. “Don’t change the subject, you- I said stay here!”

You dodged under his arm and shut down the lights on your own, and went for the curtains, pointing excitedly at your roof. Gabriel huffed, and groaned and tried to grab at your again, so you kicked him and sat on his stomach to force his to look at your handy job. “Stop struggling, man. Look there! Ain’t it awesome?”

The Archangel sighed, not caring for one second about whatever you were talking about but glad that he at least got you to stop jumping around like a hyperactive squirrel. You nudged his side with your knee, calling his name again in a complaining cry. He relented, hands clutching the fabric of your shirt to make sure you weren’t going anywhere before listening to your demands. How had he thought keeping you happy was an easy thing? You were challenging and bratty as a- He clicked his tongue again, actually taking in the light, eerie design displayed above him. “…Oh. It does look like the sky at night.”

“Right?” you chirped, wiggling, unaware of the affected gasp the man under you did at the satisfied wave coming from you. You jumped off him, ignoring the soft tug on your shirt and went to light up the room again. For whatever reason, Gabriel’s face was flushed, but you were too busy to notice it, pointing at the roof again as you picked the tube with glowing paint and a tiny brush. “I just have to paint those lines connecting the stars and it’ll be finished. I was thinking dots or short traces, but maybe tiny lightnings would be cool too? I don’t know, what do you think?”

“I think you’re not going back on that chair.”

“Buzzkill.”

“You’re going to fall and injure yourself further.”

“I’m going to be careful!”

Gabriel shook his head again. “Pick the brush and the paint. I’m picking you up. At least I’ll know you’re not falling out of the window if you lose your equilibrium.”

“C’mon, Gaby, you can’t- Oh!” You gasped and tried to grab at anything that would secure you, burying your fingers in Gabriel’s hair in order to not fall and crack your skull open. You whimpered, both concerned at the awkward position and his breath on your belly. His hands _didn’t_ have to clutch your thighs the way there were. Fuck, were they big. “Okay, we’re doing this. Uh, I actually need that glass with water over there to dilute the paint a bit…”

“This one?”

“Yeah, just out me down really quick and- _Fuck._ Okay. How are you doing this?” you hissed, face bursting red as he hooked one of your legs around his shoulder to free his hand. He grabbed the paint and lifted it up for you. You wheezed, squirming as he hummed when you tugged on his hair. “Okay. _Alright_. Ah, huh. Good.”

You know, if you ignored his face at your crotch or his hand wrapping and squeezing around your leg like _that_ , this was an actual effective position for roof painting. Gabriel was strong, and his grip was steady and secure, and you finished your painting really fast.

“It does look astoundingly good” he admitted once he put you down again, “what a beautiful design you’ve chosen. I’m impressed, this was a very interesting idea.”

“Heh, thanks. I thought it’d look good too on the window glass, but I wanted to look up at the stars instead of glazing out on the streets”

In the end, he liked it so much you convinced to do the same thing in his own room, and you enjoyed his beaming face as you gawked and gasped at the strokes of paint on the glass. Gabriel had used more paint than stickers, and his design, traced without any prompting or guiding lines, was vivid and flowing.

“It turned better than I thought.”

“You’re such a good painter” you breathed, admiring how the drawing matched the sky.

Gabriel hummed in contempt, setting the brush down but still looking at his work. He had forgotten how happy it made it him to create, and he loved the stars. Heaven was so far now, and his handiwork was unreachable from where he now stood, but the feeling of accomplishment still remained within him.

The Archangel was so glad you had helped him remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it!  
> Now one is happy and the other is hot and bothered! <3
> 
> WE HAVE FANART! And you can find it in my art blog in Tumblr (@kuvvydraws). You can also contact me thorugh my main, trash blog (@yatinga). It makes me so happy when you guys talk to me! <3
> 
> [I'm planning ahead -WAY AHEAD- but I did say we'll be having smut here. I want to know if you guys want me to warn about it in the tags, in the chapter's title, if you want some '*****' visual warning before it happens, or if you consider better to just integrate it within the general narration and flow.... You know, that kinda thing B)]
> 
> [[BTW, DO LEAVE IN THE COMMENTS SOME KINKS YOU GUYS WANT TO EXPLORE WITH THE BITCHASS ARCHANGEL AND I'LL TRY MY BEST TO GET THEM IN THE FIC. STAY THIRSTY, PEOPLE <3]]
> 
> \-----------  
> Smex update section [it won't happen anytime soon, just so you know]:  
> · I'll write a (*) in the chapters that will have smut to warn you guys.  
> ·Praise kink (for both)  
> · Hair-pulling (for Gabriel)  
> ·Dom/Bossy (for Gabriel)  
> ·Accidental stimulation (for Gabriel)  
> ·Wing kink


	18. Fluffy Middle Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No plot here, just fluff. Your family starts to force they way back into your life again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI I'M BACK
> 
> I've actually gotta go really fast so this is it:
> 
> IT'S SHORT, THERE'S A LOT OF FLUFF, YOU BETTER ENJOY IT <3

You were cooking, as in, allowed to cook because Gabriel was out, again. You had gotten his reluctant _blessing_ to do it this time, after an exhaustive inspection of your wounds; the gashes were mere itchy scabs now, and though their appearance was revolting it their rawness, you could actually go around and do your things without major inconveniences. Gabriel might or might had not panicked for this or that and _definitely_ tried to convince you to do other things rather than, you know, using your hands for their actual purpose since your species developed thumbs, but it was a short-lived battle.

Chopping vegetables was a bit hard due to the pressure you had to put on the handle, but you had managed, although you’d have to remind Gabriel to sharpen them because ‘how could you not know how to sharpen a blade, you simplistic goblin, when people had mastered that skill by the age of five in Ancient Mesopotamia’. And now, he was on sharpening duty for the next few eons. That would teach him to belittle you, the fucker.

You went to open the window, humming contently at the smell coming from the pot, and then returned to your carrots, humming to yourself. The way was plagued with dangerous books spilled all over the floor and you had to jump here and there to avoid stepping on the covers. It made you snort, realizing that now those weren’t only your books. That one about linguistics and social behaviours was definitely your roomie’s.

“ _So, are ya’ okay? How did it happen?_ ”

Your attention snapped back to your phone, and you carried it back to one of the kitchen’s counters, nodding towards it as if it was a real person. “Yeah, someone forgot to clean the floor in the kitchen. You should have seen the disaster I caused after I tripped with the crates! Ah, blood all over, shards of plates and glass everywhere... What a mess, I’m telling you. At least I could make it till the end of the night.”

“ _Damn. Ya’ sure ya’ don’t need any help?_ ” insisted Crowley, voice drowned under the sizzling and the distance despite having the phone set on speaker mode. Aziraphale pitched in by making sad noises in the back, and you could hear the light ‘thuds’ of things being relocated in what the blonde man considered their rightful place. You were sure it would take Crowley five minutes -seven tops- to mess everything up again. “ _We could be there in... really fast? I don’t mind speed tickets._ ”

“Nah, I’m good.” You shrugged, stirring the pot. Oh, stars, the smell coming from it could stop wars! Bless the second you had unburied that crappy recipe book from your Old Tata. Damn, the woman was mean as the Devil, but her talent in the kitchen... You squared your shoulders to the phone, even if they couldn’t see you, with a stubborn harrumph. “Cooking by myself and everything, like a big girl.”

You had unblocked the red-haired man’s phone number a few days ago, and the demon had been thriving. If we’re being honest, it was mostly because you had nothing else to do, as Gabriel had forbidden any and all entertaining activities in the apartment in order to ‘maximize your healing capabilities thanks to the lack of useless distractions your body was usually subjected to’. That meant, basically, that you could either watch TV or have your mind rotting away.

...So, Crowley.

It was good to have him back. It made you happy to be able to talk with your friend again, despite how awkward you two had been at the beginning. It wasn’t hard to stay mad at him if we’re being honest, because he was a bitch of a man and did everything in his power to be the most annoying creature to ever roam Earth, but you had missed him. Aziraphale deserved the best things in life for smoothing out the first minutes of ill silence.

Crowley had told you about his day, then his week... You knew he wanted to ask about Chris. It was the big elephant in the room and while he was trying his hardest to respect your privacy, it wasn’t going to last much longer. You could admire his battle with himself, but it was a fight he was going to lose if he tried to pick it with you. As happy as you were, you weren’t ready to have him mingling in your live just yet.

“ _Cool, uhm awesome. Just, um, just sayin’... Ya’ can call us. If ya’- if ya’ need a hand with anything. Me and Aziraphale. Or just him! Or me._ ”

“That’s a very generous offer of you. What if I needed a million bucks to buy a car? An expensive one. You know, the fancy shmancy purring machine that’d make your pants drop to the floor.”

“ _A man doesn’t fall on his own sword on purpose._ ”

You laughed, clanking your metal spoon against the hard ridge of the pot to get his attention. “That’s oddly sexual, Janthony. You sure we’re ready to be having this conversation?”

Crowley keysmashed loudly, and you heard the clumsy juggle sound his hands made when smacking the falling phone for a short second, then, his relieved sigh and a long string of curses. Aziraphale snickered in the back again, most likely covering his mouth. “ _Yeah, I just noticed- Shut up, I’m hanging up now!_ ” 

You expected the charring beep of a finished call, but your phone started vibrating again with an upbeat, annoying song. _The Slimy Pest_ flashed on the screen and you debated with yourself for a few seconds. Pick up and risk your brother possibly ruining your day or ignore him and have your mother positively ruining your week? Tough decision, really. Tough, tough, tough...

With a groan, you swiped your thumb over the green button. “Hey, piss-face.”

“ _The best sister in the world!_ ”

“Oh, no. What do you want? What have you done?”

“ _I haven’t even said anything yet!_ ”

“You’re making that voice. ‘The best sister in the world’ my ass... You want something. Spill, I’m busy cooking.”

“ _That’s unfair! I don’t!_ ” You hummed a song again, checked the hour and wondered where could Gabriel possibly be. The birds chirped their melody and a bus passed by, silencing them with the strong thrum of its motor. You kept waiting.“ _... Look, it’s not even that big of a deal!_ ”

“You’re playing with the big children now. I want to know what happened.”

“ _I had a fight with mom, alright? She was being unreasonable, and dad wouldn’t take my side, and I snapped and now she sneers at me every time our eyes meet. Do you want me to make it more poetic or that’s enough? I could speak about being the biggest disappointment to this family since..._ ”

“Since I left, I know. It’s hard to live up to their expectations, huh? You’re lucky you’ve always been a mama’s boy.”

“ _Am not!_ ” he protested.

“Are too” you insisted, laughing. Gosh, you could picture him pouting already, angry at not getting it his way. “And now they’re angry with you and you want out.”

“... _Just for a while._ ”

“Of course, it’s just for a while.”

You sighed. Yes, you loved giving little Alec trouble; he had it easy since the very moment he was born. He was spoiled and babied and he loved every second of it; no responsibilities to be held accountable for, no pressure to sow himself a solid career. No ambitions beyond breakfast. You loved that bitch, but his attitude sickened you sometimes.

“ _C’mon, sis?_ ”

He still was your baby brother, though. “I don’t know, man. Look, gimme a few days and I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”

“ _You’re the best._ ”

“I know _that_. When would you be coming? I’d need to ask my... Are you sure this is what you want? Paying for plane and getting all your things here and there for a few days? You’d be better off staying a week in a fancy hotel.”

“ _But I can pay for it_ ” he whined.

“Mom can pay for it, you mean.” You rolled your eyes at him mocking your voice. “Are you even telling them you intend on coming over or are you letting them think I kidnapped you like last time?”

“... _I’ll tell dad if you say yes._ ”

You groaned out loud, deeply frustrated. Now the bitch was going to make _you_ call your family to ensure that Scotland Yard didn’t come knocking on your door again. “...When would you be coming, if anything?”

“ _Ah, I’d stay for two or three days? I need to be back for Halloween, there’s a big party the guys are planning, and I don’t wanna miss it._ ”

...Of course.

You said your goodbyes, knowing your brother wouldn’t dare to test your patience any further, and busied yourself with the food and the thought of how were you going to break the news to Gabriel.

Your plans flew out through the window when you saw him, however. Few and very far in time were the occasions in which Gabriel had a bad day; you could count them with the fingers of one hand and still have enough digits remaining to flip the bird with the utmost comfort.

As the last time you had seen his bad temper show, he was dressed sharply and his face was exasperated, more irritated than tired. You cleared your throat and he gave you a _look_ , as if he had just realized you were there.

You urged him inside, waving at him with the spoon, and rolled your eyes at the judgemental stare in which he inspected your actions. Whether it was because of your bandaged hands or the few drops of soup that now stained the floor due to your motions, you didn’t care. “You’re cooking.”

“Very astute observation. Veggies soup, with chicken. Want some?”

You saw him look at your hands again, more regretfully than anything, and lowered the heat in the stove, reducing the simmering to a peaceful warm, and cleaned your hand with a kitchen towel. The Archangel shook his head has he hung his coat. “No.”

“...There are taxes for a reason, you know? The Government demands them too, and I rather pay these ones.”

Naturally, you were referring as what you liked to call ‘roommate taxes’. One of your brightest moments. They stablished the right to cuddle the shit out of the other one during movies, to change a bad song and to pick desert on alternate days, as well as granting whatever needs arose the moment any of your hit rock bottom. You had been taking advantage of these rules since Gabriel had, foolishly enough, believed their existence, and he had yet to call his right to them. Well, now you were doing it for him.

He was going to be cherished, goddammit.

“It is not necessary.”

“Yeah, too late. I’ve already got dinner ready, mister nutrition.” You ignored his hasty expression and pointed an imposing finger towards his bedroom. “Go get comfy, take a shower or whatever you want to do. By the time I’m done I want to see you in your fancy sleep wear or else.”

While Gabriel wasn’t someone to open up and talk about whatever was troubling him, the relief in his face -more like unenthusiastic surrender, if you asked him- was palpable. Your skills in the art of ‘me time’ were honed to perfection. He saw you there, on his bed, already snuggled with you back against the plush cushion of angelic feathers, the galaxy he had painted days ago glowing on the window and a tray with two steaming plates of soup and your computer on your lap.

Gabriel picked the tray and dropped it carefully on the floor, and them plopped on top of your body. Experience said it was going to take him a while to relax and loosen his posture, and it was just easier to adopt the position that favoured it all. You groaned and pushed the computer aside, shifting to stop him from crushing you under his weight.

“Bad day.”

“Not really.”

Gabriel was unfamiliar with mood swings, something about hormones and the weather and whatever bullshit the humans had invented last week. He didn’t like them. He didn’t have bad days in Heaven, and he despised having them now. Most of the time, they brought the nightmares and the gloomy thoughts about Hell with them, and no matter how hard he tried to contact the Almighty about them, She would not even answer to his prayers. Which angered him further. And he should not be getting angry at Her! What was wrong with him? These symptoms were for humans to suffer, not for him; he was not supposed to be feeling this impotent, idiotic way-!

The only good part about all this were your fingers brushing his hair and your hand resting by his shoulder, steadying is grip on reality. Your body under his, small and warm, and the calmness coming from you as you tugged on the brown strands of hair. You liked playing with his hair. He didn’t understand why, but it made you happy and that created a positive feedback for him, so he wasn’t going to complain.

It was an ugly thought for him to have, but not even upstairs he was able to find this peace and, as long as nobody else knew, he could allow himself to enjoy a few minutes of quiet.

* * *

Life was easy enough. It had taken you the whole week to shake Gabriel’s worry off you, and many, many healthy snacks as bribing to convince him not to follow you to the restaurant to ensure your ‘safety’ in such an environment once you started working once again.

Of course, not matter how many private talks you had with him, nothing could deter the Archangel from appearing there at midday o’clock, right when your break started, with a tupperware filled with _adequate_ food and two sets of cutleries. Some days, his excuse would be that he had cooked too much and it was a shame to let his marvellous creation go to waste, so why wouldn’t he bring it to you. Other days, he’d pretend to be jogging, tupperware still in hand, and be ‘just happen to be passing by, what a fortunate coincidence’. Usually, these days, he brought a salad of some kind, already taking advantage of his running motion to mix the ingredients. As he liked to say, it was all a blessed coincidence.

Whatever his excuse for the day was, he was obviously shameless when you tried to bring all these curious events up.

“You don’t have to come here every day, and you know that” you argued good-naturedly, pointing an accusatory fork at him. “Didn’t we agree you’d only be on guard when Chris and his bunch came, and only _when_ I called you?”

“It’s far more convenient for both of us if I’m already here.”

“You might as well live in the back of the kitchen now with how much you visit” you laughed, and heard cheeky Sara cheer her agreement from the archway that separated the hall from the service areas. “See? You already have a fan-base and everything. She’d be happy to polish your shoes if necessary.”

The Archangel scoffed at your sass and pointedly ignored the human squirming in the back, not sparing her a glance. He had seated himself towards the door, both to have a clear view of the entrance and to avoid looking that much at your co-workers. They had taken quite a liking to him, to his chagrin, and it was about time his angelic influence started being a hassle around mortals.

As it was natural, humans were attracted to divinity like moths to a lightbulb, and while you seemed mostly unaffected by this after he dropped his efforts to seduce you mind into liking him, he was starting to see the downside of his presence. In your case, it had worked for a while, and then his charm had lifted like a veil of mist in the morning, your eyes had opened, and he had given up on trying to control you again. This had happened during your first, big fight, and Gabriel was glad he had chosen that path instead of the one he had intended from the beginning. His life around you had improved notoriously, praise the Lord.

However, this same trait was still most useful for his casual conversation with random humans on the streets; he was adamant about discovering the intricate enigmas that plagued society and intended to do so from within its own elements, and this suggestion made his job much easier.

On the other hand, when he frequented a place too often in a short period of time -see: the restaurant you worked at-, regular humans tended to get… _clingy_. Attracted to his nature like mindless, purposeless vessels. He had feared you would return to that state again, but luckily it was as if his charm passed right over your head, totally unnoticed. Nowadays, his only worry was to avoid mingling with your co-workers as much as it was possible. Which was a feat on itself. They seemed most interested in him, although that appeared to be due to your secretive nature around them rather than his own fault.

Because of that, he quickly shook his head and redirected his attention to his meal. Even from his position and his lack of interest, the emotions buzzing from the expectant hive of waiters were turning more overwhelming by the second. Gabriel tuned them out again. “Someone has to make sure you eat properly.”

“I have cooks for that. Emily and Sara always save me a plate with leftovers.” You nudged the plate said people had provided to strengthen your point and he nudged it back with the same expression someone presented with a rotting corpse covered in sweets would make.

“You can hardly call that ‘food’,” he disagreed; “greasy, overcooked, too much salt. You might as well go lick the lid of a manhole. I bet it has got much more flavour, as disgusting as it is.”

“Easy up, Gordon Ramsay; not everyone here is a food connoisseur like you. You don’t even like eating, I’ve never seen anyone suffer with that until I met you.”

Gabriel grunted, stabbing a big, green leaf of lettuce with his fork, and glared at it as if it had insulted his mother. “Just a mere formality” he muttered.

As annoying as he was with his nutrition obsession, you had been an equal nuisance. You had insisted so much in him eating, not caring for the revulsion he felt in his guts or about the process, until he had relented and submitted. On his early days in your company, he had almost blasted you through the roof twice, out of annoyance. Yes, you spoke with the voice of reason, and yes, he knew he had to feed his stupid mortal body with something, but he didn’t have the need of a little pestering thing like you to remind him constantly. Now, the tables were turned, and he was the one making sure you were fed appropriately.

“Call it whatever you like” you shrugged, eyeing the office your boss occupied. Having Gabriel there brought great advantages in your job, and that wasn’t only about the food. Whenever he decided to appear, your boss’ terrible temper turned mellow and compliant, and only in extreme occasions he would leave his office. You and your co-workers could do your thing just right, busy and more efficient without someone yelling how incompetent you were right by your ear.

It was no wonder why Robbie and the others were so happy he visited.

Of course, you chose to ignore the stupid bet the had about when you would confirm the fact that you were, indeed, dating that _fine_ man. The was no reason to feed those rumours.

Gabriel hummed as you poked his tupper with your fork. You had refused to ask for plates in the kitchen until he admitted he was visiting the restaurant on purpose and he was too stubborn to say such a thing, so you had condemned you both on eating out of the plastic containers. The tupperware made a dull, plastic sound. “So, uh... I’ve been trying to bring this up for a while. Don’t know why I haven’t done it sooner but whatever. My brother wants to visit.”

“The Slimy Pest” he mussed, forcing his memory. The only data he had about the guy was his real name, and old picture of you two as children you once had shown him and the stupid song you had associated with his phone number. Maybe he had seen him during a video-call you had made once? It was possible, but...

“The one and only. He wants to stay at the apartment for a few days, in about a week or two?”

Gabriel squinted his eyes at you. “Why do you sound so hesitant about it?”

You huffed through your nose and grunted when he stopped you from cracking your knuckles nervously. It was your most tale-telling habit and he had started doing it too, and now he hated it. “You’re aware that my family doesn’t know crap about you, right?”

“You may have mentioned that once or twice, yes.”

“If my brother comes, he’s going to see you. He’s going to know I don’t live alone the moment he sees the books.”

“The books,” the Archangel deadpanned. “The books are what worry you.”

“He’s going to know something is up the second they see your collection of sociology stuff!”

Gabriel sighed. He was painfully aware you were one of the most -if not the most- odd humans roaming the planet, but this conversation was full on missing basic context, and he was quite not grasping whatever was peeving you so much. Why, for God’s sake, were you so worried about- He blinked and took in a deep breath, trying to ignore your nervousness sizzling in the air. “...I am afraid you’ve lost me.”

“Sociology is the most boring topic in the world, duh? Why would anyone but you read it?”

“Now you watch your mouth very carefully, you goblin. Stop fumbling, put that fork down.” Gabriel pushed the fork aside and ignored you popping your knuckles once more. “Look me in the eyes and stay serious with me for a second.”

You tried, you really, _really_ tried, but after two seconds you were giggling and burying you head in your arms, slouching on the table while your body shook with laughter. Fuck. “Your eyes are so pretty! You can’t ask that from me now that I’m nervous!”

“...Can you _focus_ for once?”

“I’m sorry, I’m trying!” You had a stupid cough fit due to the snickering, and your face was very red during the first two attempts you did at lifting it. “Stop looking or I won’t stop laughing ever again!”

At this point, Gabriel was just glad you weren’t nervous anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! I'm still here :)
> 
> Soooooooo happy? I'm aware I've been filling the chapters with a lot of plot -no matter if you had noticed or not, that's on you, people- and they deserved a bit of a break. I know I've said this for a while now but it's true!
> 
> Suggestions on how to fix the brother problem? I want you guys to get creative. Gimme something nice in the comments! <3
> 
> WE HAVE FANART! And you can find it in my art blog in Tumblr (@kuvvydraws). You can also contact me thorugh my main, trash blog (@yatinga). It makes me so happy when you guys talk to me! <3
> 
> [I'm planning ahead -WAY AHEAD- but I did say we'll be having smut here. I want to know if you guys want me to warn about it in the tags, in the chapter's title, if you want some '*****' visual warning before it happens, or if you consider better to just integrate it within the general narration and flow.... You know, that kinda thing B)]
> 
> [[BTW, DO LEAVE IN THE COMMENTS SOME KINKS YOU GUYS WANT TO EXPLORE WITH THE BITCHASS ARCHANGEL AND I'LL TRY MY BEST TO GET THEM IN THE FIC. STAY THIRSTY, PEOPLE <3]]
> 
> \-----------  
> Smex update section [it won't happen anytime soon, just so you know]:  
> · I'll write a (*) in the chapters that will have smut to warn you guys.  
> ·Praise kink (for both)  
> · Hair-pulling (for Gabriel)  
> ·Dom/Bossy (for Gabriel)  
> ·Accidental stimulation (for Gabriel)  
> ·Wing kink


	19. Feathery (*)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have some kind of... remarkable inconvenience. Yes. That's how we're going to call it.  
> Crowley and Aziraphale deserve an award with more and more urgency with each passing day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo~
> 
> I'm aware the last two chapters were short, and kinda meh? So I brought this one to compensate all that!  
> Just, uhh... No judging? I'm guilty of using quite a teasing cliché here. No, I'm not sorry, and you're welcome. In advance. You'll know what I mean in a few sentences ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoy and I'll see you in the End Notes 👋🏻👋🏻👋🏻👋🏻

It was a cruel joke, that stupid sweater, right there in the way between you and his sinful chest.

You grasped the fabric hatefully, feeling its far too good quality and wishing to rip it from his body. Of course, Gabriel would have none of that, but you were hoping his anger would wait until you were done with him. It was certain that your income wouldn’t suffice to compensate the fucking sweater and you would have to pay it in at least five instalments, because there was no way in Heaven or Hell in which you would be able to afford it in one single pay check, but you were willing to risk it as this point.

If you could keep him exactly where he was, looking at you with the starved eyes of a lost man that had been presented with a warm meal for the first time in months, you would buy him a fucking helicopter if he asked you to.

Gabriel opened his mouth as you licked your lips, and you saw the column of his neck tense and fight a moan. Disappointed in his succeed, you debated between two options. One was to return to his neck, where a nice collection of love bites was already showing and taste his soft skin and the thin layer of transpiration that covered it. The second option, and the one opted for, was much more rewarding, you considered. As you ignored his pleading sounds, your hands found the edge of the sweater, and soon you were trailing your fingers upwards, your nails scratching against his sides and making him writhe, his skin impossibly hot under your palms.

The Archangel remained looking at you as if you were an apparition, his hands firmly settled on your thighs. He shifted and shivered at the huff that escaped your lips when his crotch rubbed your heat, letting out a filthy groan that made your toes curl. He puffed heavily, rolling his hips into you as the bites in his neck pulsed. His head was filled with sand, and thinking was hard. There was throbbing _everywhere,_ and he had stopped asking if that was him or you, for he wasn’t certain anymore of where one ended and the other started.

You were fixated on his eyes, purple and glowing with a raging fire behind the pupils, and tugged against the sweater again, more violently that he would had allowed hadn’t his focus been somewhere else. You didn’t care. You had a mission, to get that offending garment off him _no matter what,_ and anything else in the room was lost to you. You weren’t sure if you were on the couch, in his room or yours, and honestly, it wasn’t important at this point. The only thing that your brain registered was his voice, his tousled hair and the way his body undulated and jerked between your thighs, erratic and strong.

Fuck, he was so big. His hands so wide, his thighs so thick, his frame so tall that you couldn’t kiss him anymore if you wanted to keep grinding down on the hot bulge tenting the front of his pants. Gabriel panted, and you felt his skin raise in goosebumps under the pads of your fingers.

It was glorious, everywhere you looked there was just _him,_ laying on his back and letting you do as you pleased with him.

You rolled your hips again, slow and merciless, and he tossed his head back, eyelids closed, and teeth bared in concentration. That just wouldn’t do. You wanted his eyes on you, you needed to see his face. He moaned again, your name a prayer on his lips, and you felt yourself clench in frantic want.

“Gabriel. Gabriel, _fuck_ ,” you called, breathless from stimulation, and dug your nails a little more in him. Bless his muscles, whispered a dirty voice in your head, and you could swear your mouth watered at the thought. He grunted something you couldn’t understand, but if the pulsating sensation against your ass and the way his hands searched desperately for the hem of your sweatpants were anything to go by, his attention was fully on you. You whined, hating with vigour the thickness of his business trousers. Too much clothing. Too many layers in between you, stopping you from feeling him completely.

“Don’t go,” Gabriel pleaded as you shifted your legs, snapping his head back to you, his grasp strong and unmoving. He hadn’t totally got the message that you wanted him naked _now,_ as he had not attempted to help you discard his clothing yet, but you could forgive his idiocy as long as his hands kept doing what they were doing, slithering up your back, under your clothes and between your shoulder blades with almost bruising strength. He pushed you to him, down, as he rocked up, mouth hanging open. You whimpered and bit your lips, and he did the same. “Stay, stay.”

“Fuck,” you swore again. Fuck the sweater. _Fuck the sweater._ If he wasn’t going to get it, there were always other ways. You would do it yourself, Heaven be damned. You gripped on the fabric and pulled, hard, as to force him up, and he followed the motion mindlessly, rising to meet your mouth halfway. _There_. Exactly there is where you wanted him, rutting against your core, grounding your hips down in an urgent rhythm as you bit his lips and brushed his tongue with yours, your fingers deeply rooted in his hair. “You feel so good, G. So, so good,” you babbled, and his lips were swollen with your kisses. You forced his head up again, exposing his throat vulnerable to your tongue and he growled, the muscles in his neck tensing as you pulled his hair.

Gabriel’s hands crawled down again, and he whispered something about God creating loose sweatpants solely for his benefit as he slid them pass the waistline and under your underwear, and cupped your ass, digging his fingers in your flesh. His nails were short and neat, extremely clean, and you could feel them leaving scratches on your skin. If you didn’t have the imprint of his palms on your cheeks tomorrow, you would be very disappointed.

“So big, stars, I can even feel my legs straining from just sitting...,” you continued babbling with half a brain, letting him settle the pace, biting his ear, his jaw and then down his neck again. He growled when your teeth scraped him and you clenched again, chest heaving with desire at the sound of his voice. You wanted to make him sing. You wanted it more than anything you had ever wanted before. There was this blossoming bruise you had been working on right by his Adam’s apple and it was too lonely for your liking. It needed a companion, and then another, and maybe you could create a path of sin that reached his collarbone if you could distract him long enough. Oh, Gabriel was going to get so angry.

He was so proper all the time. He was, and now having him under you, fighting to breathe and rambling about anything with hot helplessness, quivering and like putty in your hands... The Archangel was yours for the taking.

Gabriel would yell at you, or sneer at least, with that disapproving kindergarten teacher glare he was so good at, for marking him in such a way. But he could do that later. Now, you had other plans for him. You weren’t sorry, and that would be reason enough for him to glare at you even more. Fuck, you liked it a lot when he would look at you with that intensity. You wanted to nip him everywhere, to lick and to bite until he was covered with your presence all over.

You knew he wouldn’t let you, but dreaming was free. Why did it matter, when his turtleneck covered everything? No one would see the scratches, or the bites, or the hickeys. You wanted them to see, to be aware that the stiff man -no pun intended this time, despite the hard evidence poking you with insistent enthusiasm- helplessly moaning your name under you, whose hands hand found a way to get your hoodie off you in a second of distraction as you pondered where to nibble next, had let you close enough for you to have your way with his neck. And some other places, as were your plans.

You phone screeched somewhere in the room, and you woke up in panicked surprise, your legs kicking so hard in response to the vivid dream that you hurled yourself off the bed. It was a harsh landing, and you yelped in pain as one of your hard-cover books inserted its sharp corner by your hip. Your face was on fire and you could feel the wetness between your legs, uncomfortable and throbbing to make itself know, as your heart pounded heavily against your ribcage. The beats resounded in your ears like furious war drums.

Fuck.

Just... _fuck_.

This couldn’t be happening to you.

You punched your phone silent, kicked the messy blankets away from you and avoided with all your might looking at the pillow Gabriel had gifted you as you grubbed in your underwear drawer for something to change into. Your uniform -a.k.a. your black dress pants and one of the twelve white, formal shirts that were beyond scarred in the war of servicing clients- was already prepared and sitting straight in the backrest of your desk chair, a redundant habit you had never abandoned since high school, and you fetched it blindly. You needed a shower.

A cold, unforgiving shower.

You usually liked having breakfast with Gabriel, and would tease his recent inclination to visit you at work -you had meant to talk with him about that, too, feeling a little overwhelmed with his constant presence everywhere you went- but this particular morning you were extremely glad he was nowhere to be seen. Out and jogging, good. That meant there wasn’t a chance of him hearing you moaning his name like a cat in heat. You had a troubling, embarrassing tendency to talk in your sleep, you knew, and that of course included wet dreams as well. Boy, was that awkward to explain to other parties.

You could remember a very cringeworthy sleepover when you had first met your group of friends.

It hadn’t been a pleasant experience.

You didn’t want to think about it, or about Gabriel for what it’s worth, and thus you did not. You still had to solve the problem of your little brother visiting in a week or so and that was far more pressing than whatever your horny brain decided to machinate during its free, unsupervised time. Since both you and Gabriel had proved yourself absolutely useless on that front for several days, and the internet hadn’t brought up a proper solution either, you had arranged a meeting with Crowley and Aziraphale today, once your shift ended. You didn’t know if they had any family, as they had never mentioned any relatives, but they were a smart pair of cookies. Inventive, at least, and you could use some of their improv mojo for yourself.

You shook your head, wisely avoiding your crotch after a quick clean, as you rinsed yourself. There was a positive _mess_ down there and you didn’t have the time or the energy to- Aziraphale and Crowley. Focus. You were meeting with them to talk about your shithole of a family. That’s it. There’s nothing less sexy than your family. So, the meeting. No. A _hangout_ , not a meeting. They were your friends, you reminded yourself, brain sluggish and stupid, not your partners in a law firm. You could consult them about these troubles you were having _with your very unsexy, non-erotic family_ and boy, would it be weird if you asked if...?

Fuck, just- Ugh!

Wet dreams were normal! They were! People had wet dreams about their social circle, or friends -or whatever you wanted to call it- all the bloody time. You had one about Crowley like a week ago, and Aziraphale had also starred two or three of them. Of course, you blamed these events in the fact that you hadn’t heard a nice word coming from Crowley’s sexy mouth in weeks -with that stupidly hot accent of his- and that your friends at work had been teasing the living Hell out of you when Aziraphale had presented himself at your job. Crowley had always a racy comment at the ready and you had suffered through enough taunting suggestions about how the blonde behaved in bed to last a lifetime.

...You had a vivid imagination. It wasn’t your fault!

Point is, you hadn’t crashed over this nonsense for a second with them. It was, maybe, because you hadn’t seen their faces in ages, and they were your _friends_ , while you had to look at Gabriel in the eye the second he crossed he door. Or not. You were young, and healthy and above the sexual stigmatization of wet dream. You were! Having them was _normal_. Common occurrences. Even if they involved your very attractive roommate. All the more reason to justify them.

Well! Not to _justify_ them!

...To explain them, at least.

You shouldn’t be this fidgety. It was awkward, and you didn’t need that stupid feeling piling up the way it was doing. Regardless of your very honest thoughts on the matter, you shoved a bowl of barely heated milk and crunchy cereal down your throat and left the apartment in a haste, leaving a rushed, short note for Gabriel reminding him that you were eating with the odd couple and to not go to the restaurant for you. You had little hope he would listen, but let it not be said that you didn’t try to get through that thick head of his.

“My dear, are you alright?”

You screamed. You hadn’t seen your landlady there, at the niche between the letterboxes room and the door of her own apartment, and her deftly manicured claw was ruthless on the skin of your forearm, the rough fabric of your work shirt doing little to nothing to protect your flesh from her nails as she snatched your extremity. Only luck and a quick motion of hands saved your teeth from slamming against the painted wall, as the inertia she had created when pulling you to a stop had other plans for your well being. Your wrist hit hard and so did your shoulder, and you grunted in pain, but she seemed unaware of either your hurry or your discomfort.

You had been avoiding the old hag for weeks, and now that she had you cornered and firmly grasped you were sure your escape would have to involve blood. Probably yours. You tugged your arm back, and she only smiled at you good-naturedly, showing you a crooked smile of teeth stained with lipstick. Why would she put on lipstick at six thirty in the morning was beyond you. You pushed yourself off the wall and rearranged your shirt, clearing your throat with notorious conversational unavailability. That is, you wanted the fuck out as fast as possible. “Good morning. I’m sorry, but I’m in a bit of a rush-”

“Darling, such an expression on you,” she gasped affectedly, cutting your half-assed excuse with the practice that came with years of unwilling gossip and careless concern for the victim of her fake apprehension. “You shouldn’t be going anywhere looking like _that_!”

“I don’t-!”

You had a nasty reply ready for that, as she had the terrible habit of crudely commenting how you should start using make up to please your man, since he was so nice to let you go to work and everything, but instead bit your tongue, quite literally, as she squeezed your face with her free hand to put your face closer to hers and inspect you with more detail. Fucking _witch._ “You’re surely running a fever, look at the colour on your face.”

Ah.

_That._

Yes, you were very much aware, thanks to the mirror in your cramped bathroom, that Mr. Gordon Ramsay would be able to fry an egg on your cheeks, and that the boiling red extended down your neck and onto your chest like a raging blanket of shame. Obviously, the nightmare of a landlady you had the disgrace of having had seen it too, glowing in strong contrast with the stark white of your shirt. Your ears might as well had been whistling a rope of steam with how red and warm they felt as you tried, once again, to gain your arm back. “I’m fine, already took and aspirin and everything. I’m actually late for work so I’ll be on my way. Have a nice one!”

You escaped her and had a nice, crowded trip to your workplace, resenting through grounded teeth the awful warmth the horde of rushed workers created in the packed bus. Some of them gave you strange looks, a woman or two covered their snickering mouths after their fleeting glances, and you ignored them in favour of concentrating in how grateful you were for not having to work in a wedding schedule for another two weeks.

Only when you arrived at the restaurant and received and owlish, stupid look from Robbie, you asked, already tired, in a deadpan: “What?”

“Did ya’ fight a racoon on your way here?” perked in Robbie’s friend as he pushed the other man aside. The guy, whose name you had never bothered to learn before but was proving itself to be a much more pressing necessity with each passing day, pointed a long, bony finger at your face, making you go cross-eyes and frowning. “What on Earth did you do, girl?”

You rolled your eyes, so sure that they were talking about that blush that you could still feel heating your face and used the reflection your phone screen provided to look at yourself. You frown then deepened, even creasing your forehead and nose, as you bared your teeth at the image of yourself.

“Fucking witch of Hell,” you hissed, low and enraged.

Your landlady had scrapped you with her long nails, you had felt it, but you didn’t think she was capable of leaving marks behind. You were clearly wrong, you thought, looking at the angry red patches of skin on your cheeks.

That was a terrible way to start off your day.

* * *

Crowley bounced on his feet, clicking his tongue and walking back and forth in his angel’s kitchen. He was restless, the harsh opposite of Aziraphale’s carefree posture, who was singing as he stir fried some vegetables on a big pan he had just bought. What for, the demon didn’t know, as his beloved had the tendency to collect culinary utilities from time to time. The day he had whispered a foul idea to a Swedish guy, the very same one who had later created Ikea, was the day Crowley had condemned himself to a few centuries of meaningless frustration.

Neither him nor Aziraphale knew how to cook. Crowley didn’t eat, as he was more of a drinker, and Aziraphale preferred to have his meals either delivered or brought to him via waiter. The few times they had tried to prepare a meal for the other... Well, it was disastrous, and they were glad they couldn’t die of food intoxication. Cooking together, however, was a fun activity to do, and it usually led to sex.

That, of course, justified both his liking for the activity and the current boner straining his pants in a very demanding tent.

Aziraphale hadn’t noticed this problem yet, and the demon wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. On one hand, it wasn’t the time to grope his dearest’s plumb behind and bury his nose in the white, soft curls that crowned his head -which was, in itself a fallacy, because any second that wasn’t spent worshiping Aziraphale was a wasted second in Crowley’s wise opinion. On the other hand, you were about to arrive, and Crowley had invested a lot of his time and effort in building your trust again. It would be a shame to see that destroyed just because he couldn’t keep it in his pants for two hours.

Aziraphale leaned forward to inspect a picture in that recipe book he had acquired just the day before in order to impress you with his cooking skills. He had practiced the whole night and now the bookshop was scented with the welcoming aroma of a warm meal. He liked it a lot, and was very proud of his efforts, and even more of his succeeds. He had improved astoundingly! The first few tries, his carrots were far too hard, and the potatoes had turned black as charcoal, and the whole thing stank of burnt food and wasted time. Now, he thought spiritedly with a happy wiggle, the contents of his pan were much more pleasant to look at.

As Aziraphale thrilled with triumph under Crowley’s gaze, the demon felt himself die. He wasn’t going to make it. His angel was too much.

Then came the bell’s accusing chime, and Crowley recognised you, familiar with the vibration the pattern of your steps created on the wooden floor. It was a good distraction, following your path, and being a snake had its advantages from time to time. Aziraphale ushered him to greet you with another wiggle, and Crowley, red in the face from his angel’s teasing, was about to go downstairs when he felt it. It was like a punch to the chest.

Lust.

Boiling, unadulterated desire.

His eyes went wide as saucers behind the dark glass of his sunglasses, and he was about to warn Aziraphale when he saw his angel’s reaction. The blonde jumped as if the air itself had zapped him, and he made a strangled sound, looking at Crowley with big, round, blue eyes. His skin, way paler than the demon’s, burst in a fiery blush, and the plastic spoon he had used to stir the vegetables in the pan fell to the floor with a noisy clatter.

“Anthony? Aziraphale?” you asked from the stairs, your feet clanking on the metal steps as you made your way up. “Are you there? There was this sign saying that the bookshop is closed but, y’know, since we agreed to meet here... It’s a bad time? Where-”

They hissed to each other in rushed gestures, not daring to speak out loud, and Aziraphale splashed water from the tap on his face, hands shaking, as Crowley took care of the food.

The redhead snapped his fingers in an upwards motion, bringing a demonic miracle from Hell, and suddenly the table was prepared for three. Aziraphale kept washing his face, his skin still furiously red, and the angel didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or because of the freezing temperature of the water. He wasn’t risking it. He still made enough time to steal a glance and check the safety of the books that used to be on the table Crowley had miracled and nodded pleasantly at finding them neatly organised in two impeccable columns by his desk.

Crowley cleared his throat. He did it again, then once more, as his voice refused to come out without a very manly squawk. He was lucky the bookshop had many decorations and you were a slut for antique stuff. “Over here, we’re getting the food ready!”

“The food? I thought we were going to eat somewhere else? Oh, you should have told me, I’d have brought something-” You reached the top of the stairs, and blinked slowly, trying to take the whole scene in. Crowley held the pan at arms length, as if it was a spitting snake. On the other side of the sink, Aziraphale had his whole face absurdly wet, a plush towel in his hands and dripping water with a guilty expression on his eyes, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Your eyebrows rose up to your hairline, not knowing what was going on or how to process the men in front of you. “...Is everything okay?”

It was as if with your voice you had restarted the room and its occupants. Crowley spluttered gracelessly, reorganised his hair with one hand and gave Aziraphale a fleeting glance of terror. Aziraphale returned the look and then proceeded to dry his face as if everything was right in the world, clearly leaving his boyfriend to do the explanation bit on his own.

Crowley’s lips twitched with irritation before looking at you. You stared back expectantly. “Everything good.”

“...Is it?”

“Yeah!” he said, far too loudly and too enthusiastically. “Why not?”

“Why not?” you parroted, completely lost. “Are you two alright?”

“Yes, yes; everything is tickety boo.” Aziraphale sprung to life, the towel he had held now gone somewhere else despite it being there just a blink ago, and he beckoned you to climb the last steps and sit down at the table. He hurried to Crowley’s side, took the pan from his gaping boyfriend and efficiently served three plates. “Do come here, dear. Is this enough, would you like something else?”

“No, it’s good, thank you. I-” You waited for the blonde man to drag a dumbfounded Crowley to his chair, where he fell without a single sign of a fight, his eyebrows clearly visible and arched above his sunglasses in a clean curve of shock. Aziraphale poured wine, nudged Crowley with his knee not very discretely to indicate him to close his open mouth least he wanted to catch a wandering fly in it, and then sat down. He gave you a charming smile and gestured you to keep talking. You blinked again. “Uh. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Absolutely. You said you wanted our advice regarding some delicate topic, yes?” He kicked Crowley under the table again, and this time the demon shoot up his legs in surprise so fast they slammed against the table, shaking the surface and the cutlery. Crowley whined, but Aziraphale’s lovely smile remained unwavering and directed at you. “Do tell, we’re dying to know how we can assist you.”

Your eyes slid to Crowley’s uncomfortable posture, and he gave you a trembling and insecure smile, his plate already half empty.

The redhead encouraged you with a nod, oddly silent, and pretended to chew a bite of food. This was not his scene at all. The lust coming from you, even if subdued after the initial shock that had rattled both him and Aziraphale, was making him jittery. As a demon, he was far more sensitive to it than your normal angel, no matter if they were Principalities or not, and he was thanking the Almighty that your feelings, or emotions or sensations or whatever you wanted to call it were not directed at them. While Aziraphale had managed to get his blush under control, Crowley was having a hard time with his -no wordplay fucking intended- junk acting up.

He was no stranger to random people lusting after each other, or after him. Their desire was easy to dismiss, as he was used to it; recently, he had discovered that walking with Aziraphale created some sort of heavenly bubble around them and his influence was even weaker, which had saved him a lot of stares to the ass or to his crotch. Yes, it was incredibly amusing to make people horny on purpose on the streets, all of them wondering what had hit them when they landed their eyes on him as they ruined their underwear forever.

He hadn’t expected it from you. He was in the bookshop, kind of a safe space for him, and he hadn’t meant to provoke whatever you were going through _at all._

A quick glance at Aziraphale told him that, if his lover was acting so nonchalantly, it was because your... condition was something far from his doing. It was a relief, honestly. Aziraphale, as an angel, had much more information about what you were feeling than his demonic sense could provide for him, and you seemed so normal. So _unaffected_ on the outside despite the heavy waves you were emitting.

Also, you were his friend, or in the way of becoming his friend again, and he didn’t want to deal with you trying to get in his pants. He was a taken demon, thank you very much.

...You just said something about a brother? Fuck, he wasn’t listening. Fuck, fuck. “He’s visiting, ya’ say?”

“Yeah,” you repeated, “he’s coming here for like two days? A really quick thing, and only for one night, but he’s refusing to stay in a hotel?”

“Didn’t you say your apartment had two rooms?” pitched in Aziraphale.

“It does, but they’re already occupied.” Something in your voice told Crowley that there as a story behind that, or some missing detail, so obvious that it was absurd it was avoiding him, but he couldn’t exactly pinpoint it. “I did offer him my room, but he refuses to take that or the couch and my patience is running thin. Any ideas? How do I solve this?”

Crowley was about to suggest the sensible thing, the obvious one. Which was kicking your brother out and have him sleeping under a bridge. That’d teach him to be such a picky bastard. “The point is you don’t want him snooping in your apartment?”

“...Basically, yes.”

“Here!” clapped Aziraphale, a bright, excited smile showing on his face. He fixed his eyes on you, one of his hands crawling its way to squeeze one of Crowley’s thighs. He gave his demon an eager look, and then targeted you. “It is a great chance. I’ve been looking forward to a sleepover for ages, since we finished renovating the attic. There’s room for all of us here.”

Crowley knew there was no attic, and so did you, as the building had very too distinct floors, clearly visible from the outside. Neither of them had to mention that characteristic was vulnerable to change with a quick snap of fingers, and you would be none the wiser. Miracles were so useful sometimes.

Aziraphale was sort of right, and his plan was to get both you and Crowley in a room, with family involved to ensure the presence of entertaining anecdotes, to bring you closer again. His demon hadn’t come around writing down that apology he owned you yet -he had tried several, but they came out terrible, which was an incredible feat considering how talented he was regarding love letters-, and this was just the chance he needed. 

You, on the other hand, immediately pulled back from that idea. “No, no, no. That’d be too imposing. I can’t ask that from you. My brother is a tough cookie and he can be overbearing and pushy and... No. No. No way, forget it.”

Aziraphale kicked Crowley again, hard. “Angel’s right. There’s room here, and if we can handle Gabriel, yer’ brother won’t be a problem.” You didn’t appreciate his joke, if your sour expression was anything to go by. Aziraphale pinched his thigh, and not in a sexy way. “’Kay, a’ight. But it’s a good idea. It’s only for a night, then you can take ‘im away if he concerns ya’ that much.”

“No skin off our noses,” insisted the blonde, and his hand grasped softly, warmly, the one you had resting atop of the table. A cheap move, certainly, he thought regretfully as he used a _tiny little bit_ of celestial influence. It was for your own good, really, and-

You took your hand away without bating your eyes. “No, it’s too much. I’ll figure it out.” You shook your head, and they could hear the gears turning and buzzing. “I’ll make do, somehow. Can’t be that difficult of a problem,” you mussed with the enthusiastic voice a defeated person used to lie to themselves out loud.

The couple blinked at each other, and Aziraphale gave Crowley a warning look. The demon pursed his lips, aware that the suggestive divine influence didn’t always work on every human, specially if they were close to other sources of holy presence. Your resistance only meant that you spent a lot of time around _those other sources,_ and that they had to be strong, intense, if you hadn’t even noticed the Principality’s attempt. Of course, all evidence pointed at Gabriel.

Crowley wanted to ask about what kind of relationship you could have with that prick -what kind of person would willingly waste their time around someone like _Gabriel_ , of all the people that... That wasn’t the point here. It was _a_ point, and a remarkable one, but not the thing they should be focusing on.

“Have us as an option, at least. Find yer’ way around, but know that ya’ two can come here if ya’ need it.”

In the end, you weren’t convinced by their arguments at all, but Aziraphale knew better than to push your buttons any further, and directed the conversation elsewhere. His work, then yours, then some shenanigans Crowley had been up to in the last week. You laughed a lot, and they were happy that, when you left, as the sun was setting, you humour was better, if not cheerful.

They waved you off by the door, and then Crowley crumbled down on the floor. It had taken him all his best effort not to poof into a snake. He was so overwhelmed, goddammit! “Did ya’ feel _that!_ ”

Aziraphale nodded deeply, closing the curtains that showed the street before sitting down with his demon. Crowley migrated his head to his welcoming lap, and the angel’s fingers immediately found their way in his head, smoothing the fiery curls. “... Dear Almighty, it was definitely _something._ ”

“Ya’ can say that again. Who the heck could have caused her to feel like that? T’was strong. Like fucking pheromones or something. Fuck.”

“It indeed was difficult to manoeuvre around that, yes,” huffed Aziraphale. He added, after a long, hesitant pause, as if he shouldn’t be caught saying is thoughts aloud: “...Do you believe it was because of Gabriel? They do seem to be awfully close.”

Crowley shook his head, his nose rubbing against the clothed thigh as he discarded his sunglasses, throwing them somewhere in the bookshop. He could always miracle them back. Or get new ones. He had dozens of that particular design. Aziraphale’s words caused a bad kind of shiver to freeze his spine, and he tensed. “...No. No way in Hell.”

“Hmm,” droned Aziraphale, not entirely satisfied with that answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyaaaaaaaaaaaa!
> 
> ....Uhhh.
> 
> That's it. That's it for today :)
> 
> Any ideas on how is Reader going to solve this mess? Any of these messes?   
> Also, where is Gabriel? How's he going to react when he perceives what's going on with Reader? Is he going to know what's up or is he just going to stare obliviously at her?   
> Who knows.  
> I don't.
> 
> WE HAVE FANART! And you can find it in my art blog in Tumblr (@kuvvydraws). You can also contact me thorugh my main, trash blog (@yatinga). It makes me so happy when you guys talk to me! <3
> 
> [I'm planning ahead -WAY AHEAD- but I did say we'll be having smut here. I want to know if you guys want me to warn about it in the tags, in the chapter's title, if you want some '*****' visual warning before it happens, or if you consider better to just integrate it within the general narration and flow.... You know, that kinda thing B)]
> 
> [[BTW, DO LEAVE IN THE COMMENTS SOME KINKS YOU GUYS WANT TO EXPLORE WITH THE BITCHASS ARCHANGEL AND I'LL TRY MY BEST TO GET THEM IN THE FIC. STAY THIRSTY, PEOPLE <3]]
> 
> \-----------  
> Smex update section [it won't happen anytime soon, just so you know]:  
> · I'll write a (*) in the chapters that will have smut to warn you guys.  
> ·Praise kink (for both)  
> · Hair-pulling (for Gabriel)  
> ·Dom/Bossy (for Gabriel)  
> ·Accidental stimulation (for Gabriel)  
> ·Wing kink


	20. Cats and Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel's POV for once. 
> 
> The consequences and the day after and your family. It all sucks.
> 
> You hate it and he hates it, and he doesn't understand why the world is so fucked up and why can't you stay in bed forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S FUCKING ALIVE?????
> 
> Me. It's me.  
> Pretty obvious answer, now that I think about it.
> 
> Well.
> 
> IT'S BEEN A LITERAL MONTH SINCE I'VE UPDATED AND I KNOW and I'm sorry i wen't MIA. Life is a bitch and it's aware of it, and it was my turn to get fucked.
> 
> MaH pOINT IS... here I am, making time before a meeting with my thesis counselor and praying to any and all gods that are listening that everything goes well. 
> 
> ENOGH OF PERSONAL SHIT.
> 
> I bring you fluff, plot and angst, and fluff with angst. Fluffy angst. Flangst. (NO, I don't know why I've written angst so many times, it's a difficult word for me to spell >:[ )
> 
> THAT'S IT.
> 
> START READING AND ENJOY.

One thing Gabriel found himself still struggling with were the many human obsessions that surrounded him daily. People seemed so used to them they had become unaware of their constant presence, but no matter how many months he had spent on Earth already, the absurdity of it never ceased to struck him. He could find these topics, repetitive to the point of boredom, almost everywhere he went without a fault. Politics had usually the same impact as internet jokes, he noticed, while social problems within the community swung between the hot take of the week and the most uneventful subject to ever be addressed.

The only thing everyone seemed to agree upon was how important cats were.

On the internet or on signs on the street, at the supermarket or during the wait for the bus at its stop, in passing conversations or very well-thought discussions, cats seemed to be favoured with the utmost approval.

Of course, you were no exception to this unspoken rule. Unspoken in a rhetorical sense, for it was very well spoken _indeed_ , and whoever dared to sneer towards these animals should expect a rising in the lynching statistics to be announced in the afternoon news. 

Gabriel thought you liked them so much you had even started to adopt their behaviours yourself. You were always yapping about that sporadic, white and nasty kitten that lived around the area where you worked at, and he had found you on more than one occasion curled up to the side of the couch - _his side_ , to be more precise-, making the most of the tiny, sunny patch that would appear some lucky afternoons, napping the day away.

At this very moment, when he greeted you as you entered the apartment with the guiltiest expression an innocent person could make, you jumped so hard an untrained eye could assure he had sprayed you with a water pulveriser filled with acid. If you were, indeed, a cat, you would be dangling from the ceiling, nails deep in the plaster. 

Gabriel raised his eyebrows at you, watching your reactions from the comfort that provided the non-wobbly chair in the kitchen. Under his inspection you made some strange, throaty rumble resembling a gecko mating call and waved at him stiffly. 

“Didn’t see you there,” you wheezed, and Gabriel could see the tendons in your neck protruding from how tense you were. 

He said nothing, far too amused with your attitude to come up with anything witty to put you in your place for not noticing him. It was a welcomed contrast to the way pedestrians turned their heads to watch him pass by, and you always seemed so off the loop about it. Endearing, even.

The corner of his mouth twitched with curiosity, and then with irritation when the raspy whiff of a demonic aura, well-mixed with the inviting warm from Aziraphale’s heavenly presence caught up with him. Why did you find so much worth in sharing your time with those two was beyond his knowledge. And, oh, if only you wouldn’t tear his face off if he dared to ask. God knew you were uncannily fierce when defending the pair of lovers. His spirits catapulted down and he wrinkled his nose, a silent grunt building up inside his throat.

You missed all this, your back towards him as you diligently took off your shoes and work bag and put them in their right place by the door, in some fancy boxes of ‘modern but messily’ plaited straw Gabriel had found appropriate in one of his mysterious walks. You didn’t like them one bit, and you had voiced your opinion sternly, as the material was rough to the touch and left bits of leaves and tiny roots everywhere, but since it was him the one doing the sweeping most of the time, you let him be. That didn’t stop you from grimacing every time your fingers came in contact with the stupid thing, though. 

With one mean look for the boxes again, you headed to the kitchen, paying no mind to your unusual actions. “How was your day then?”

Gabriel blinked at your tidiness, not even remembering the last time you had actually put any effort in organizing your things, no matter how awkwardly the white cuff of your work shirt was dangling out of the bag’s zipper from inside the box. He inspected you as you made your way to the kettle and put some water to boil, and then to the slick coffeemaker he preferred after you offered to make him a drink too. He was distracted for a second as you hummed humorously at the loud discrepancy your cartoony cup made with the stern, plain white of his.

The Archangel’s vision roamed over your figure again, inquisitive, aware that the was something off but not sure what it was or how to address it.

How... _compliant_ were you behaving, were you not? 

From where he sat he was able to smell the refined wine you had likely consumed, but the low, blurry buzz that delated the influence of alcohol in you felt old as an afterthought. So, you had drunk, and you had been in the company of the two traitors to the Great Order and you were acting strangely and out of character. There was something nagging him in the back of his mind, an earn woodpecker calling for his attention with the most insistent chirp in the world, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, tell what it wanted. There had been something he _had wanted_ to ask you... to tell you? To -ugh, the stench of demon was easy to wash off, luckily, with how strongly the serpent’s presence fell on you, and Aziraphale’s natural holy trace and artificial perfume did nothing to hide it.

He did not necessarily appreciate those smells on you. 

You placed the cup in front of him, stopping that impromptu train of thought, and he nodded gratefully, holding his coffee and feeling the warm of the liquid seep into the palms of his hands. Now that the cold weather was approaching, he could take pleasure these tiny conformities he hadn’t known up in Heaven. He saw you were doing the exact same at the other side of the table, wiggling your butt on the sticker-covered, limping chair to make it squeak. You were such a child sometimes it was physically painful to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

Gabriel gave you an curious look, lowering the coffee he was just about to drink. You blinked, caught in surprise at the intense squinting, and did the same with your mug, if much more warily. The size of that porcelain abomination was so strange, so disproportionate compared to the tininess of your hands it was ridiculous, but his focus was elsewhere this time. His eyes were smouldering as they tracked they angry red lines on your cheeks. 

He frowned immediately. “What happened to your face? Did-?” Then he took a moment to breathe, jaws tense. His first thought was for your boss, and it wasn’t a pleasant one. “The markings on your face, did they happen at work? Wh-“

You immediately freed a hand and placed it on your cheeks, right above where he was looking at. “No, what? No. Not at work,” you all but babbled, and Gabriel watched how a light but insistent red hue slowly creeped down your neck and towards your ears. He was mesmerized by it for a moment, wondering why on Earth where you blushing if he wasn’t teasing you and there was nothing to be embarrassed about- Oh. Anger. _That_ buzz he could recognize. You gritted your teeth so hard he feared you would crack them, and your eyes glowed with deep irritation. Now, his own indignation seemed like a child’s in comparison to yours, and he wished above anything to step back and get away from the burning of your pupils. You weren’t nearly done with your rage and your next words were spat as viciously as if they were poison. “Our nice landlady thought this would be an effective reminder of how thankful I should be for having someone like you letting me go to work.”

“Ahm... Ergh,” was Gabriel’s useful contribution. You pursed your lips, glaring heatedly at the air, and he wondered, not for the first time, if there was something medically wrong with your assigned, nest-providing human. Or, uh, he was going through another human social _faux-pas_ , perhaps? There were so many of those it was incredibly difficult to keep track of them all. “Why exactly would I have to give you permission to do anything, again?”

“Precisely!” you barked, shooting both your arms at him so fast he jumped in his chair. “Welcome to the new century, old hag, I don’t need no man’s permission to do shit!”

Gabriel nodded carefully, his coffee cupped safely with both hands in front of his chest as an impromptu protection as he watched your tea almost spill from your own mug. You... Felt strongly about the woman, he knew, and had you had a coat of fur instead of normal skin, it would be fully raised and puffy with rage. 

The only -relatively- good part about it was how your feelings just seemed to overpower the other ethereal beings’ smell. No Crowley, no Aziraphale. Now, it was just you and your emotions, like a fog expanding through the apartment with its misty tendrils and reaching everywhere he could sense with overpowering strength. 

It was better, the Archangel decided; he preferred your own scent above theirs any day.

As you took an intense sip from your mug, your movements clipped and your tongue clicking, Gabriel pondered over his options. It was usually hard to think above feelings as charged as yours, but he had discovered with time that was the only way you had to feel things, and he had learnt to find a way through them in order to be able to think coherently. The feeling that he wanted to ask you about _something_ _important_ was still bothering him, but your huffing and puffing like an indignant horse was very entertaining and much more attention-worthy than whatever thing he... 

Ah, you were flushing again. 

He had to smile at that, but his eyes didn’t waver from your steadily redder face. “Something the matter?”

“Staring is rude,” you pointed, voice tiny and frustrated inside your cup. It was delightful to see first hand how your demeanour changed with just a slight glance. Gabriel made a show of resting his chin on top of his wrist in order to find a better, more comfortable posture to look at you. His lips turned upwards almost involuntarily, a rare smirk finding its place in his amused expression. You stuck your tongue aggressively at him, shoulders hunching so high they covered your glowing ears. “Told you to quit it, you smug crap.”

“Mm?” He mocked you, taking a very dainty and measured sip from his coffee, the eye contact strong. A coil of satisfaction twisted inside him, finding bright gratification in your squirming form for no reason in particular. 

You squinted at him evilly, determined to hold your ground. He could already sense a snark behind the deep frown of your brows, but you were incapable of not smiling, always ready for a challenge. “I’ll crack your skull open like a melon with this very own cup if you keep-” Your phone beeped, and you glared at it, bothered that your bloody speech was so rudely interrupted, and then checked the screen. All the nasty yet good-natured fun in your face melted away, leaving behind a mix of irritation and livid disbelief. Your chair screamed loudly as its legs were dragged through the floor when you stood up, lips curling up in rage. “ _Son of a bitch._ ”

Gabriel sat up straighter but dared not to approach you; your quick mood change had sucked in all the previous emotional fog and exuded a new, dirtier one that left him dizzy, as if he had forgotten he could use his lungs after being underwater for far too long. He coughed and forced his body to take a breath, and it was shakier than he would have preferred. “What is it?” 

But you were already on your way to the living room, raising your phone close to your ear as you made a call. Huh. You _despised_ calls. He picked that forcefully cheerful tone your voice adopted when you were trying to be polite and instantly knew you were talking with your boss. 

What a wretched man. Gabriel hadn’t made a habit of disliking people before his arrival on Earth, but didn’t consider himself naïve either. Up in Heaven, everyone was on their best behaviour all the time and particularly around him. There were strictly reinforced rules -but silent as a nun’s whisper- about how to correctly address angels, no matter their status or condition. Those rules didn’t work on the surface, and he had quickly found that he worst of your species always took advantage of those they considered lesser people. Your boss was part of that revolting group, but the Archangel had found enormous pleasure in presenting himself unannounced to your restaurant, and felt some improper joy at seeing his cruel words chocked in his throat the moment his eyes caught his own. 

Angels’ ire surely had a reputation for humans, exhaustively described in the Bible, and believers and non-believers alike had heard of the consequences of crossing them. Gabriel didn’t exactly like using that tactic, as he rather be liked than feared. Yet, it was darkly satisfying to see the man cower under the tiniest spark of holy power he would let out. He deserved it, and Gabriel couldn’t think his actions wrong when he was seeing the effects that man had over you. 

Your anxiety, previously non-existent, spiked up like a rocket, and drowned all the humorous mood you had going a few seconds prior. As much as he wanted to take the phone from you and take the matters into his own hands, Gabriel decided not to interfere with your business this time, your threat of officially banning him from visiting you at the restaurant dangling dangerously over his head like a sword of Damocles. However, he couldn’t help himself after the longing look you gave your tea. 

You looked away, immersed in your miserable duty, feet dragging on the floor and fingers tapping on every horizontal surface they found out of nervousness or impatience. He lightly brushed the tip of his fingers to the quickly cooling drink, and it was reheated just like that. 

An infuriating minute later, you slumped on the kitchen chair again and growled at its squeak, clearly not finding its limp funny anymore. Gabriel waited for you to speak, and you abandoned your falsely composed pose in favour of just crumbling on the table and nuzzling the welcoming warm of the cup of tea. If you found it strange that it was still drinkable, you didn’t say anything. After what seemed an eternity, you slid your phone in his direction, the screen already facing him, and Gabriel peeked at it. A message from _The Slimy Pest_ caught his attention, but the words were gibberish to him.

It took you a second to realise whatever your brother had texted you Gabriel couldn’t understand, for it wasn’t in English, and you sighed and retrieved back the phone, Gabriel’s eyes on you more curious than ever. “He says he’ll be here tomorrow. I’ve already called my job and everything, asking for a leave ‘till the weekend. Boss wasn’t happy,” you grumbled.

You had kept him updated on the situation with your brother as the events unfolded, and Gabriel frowned, knowing that the boy had promised beforehand to give you a heads up of at least two days before dragging himself to London to grant you a window for handling preparations. Seemed his own memo was irrelevant even for himself. “Did he say when?”

“No. Why should he, tho? Turns out I’m a wizard now and I can read his bloody mind as easily as opening the newspaper. Just wait until I post it online, I’m going to be fucking famous by daybreak,” you spat, rubbing your face. “I don’t even know where to keep him yet.”

“Here is still an option.”

“You’re still my dirty secret, G.”

The Archangel scoffed. “I will have you know I am in no ways ‘dirty’, as you say.”

You coughed up a reluctant laugh. “It’s figurative speech; how can you be dirty if you take three showers a day?” Gabriel nodded rightfully, and you shook your head, your amusement returning somehow. “I had lunch with Anthony and Aziraphale today. They offered his place. Could be a solution.”

“The library?” Gabriel inquired, his mouth already twisting downwards in displeasure. “Where could your brother possibly stay there?”

“It’s technically a bookshop, but yeah, I know. But they say there’s a third floor somewhere? Aziraphale said it was a, uh, _trompe l’oeil_ -I _think_ I’m saying it right- the architect decided to innovate with when the building was being erected. Don’t ask me about the details, don’t know them. Point is, there should be room for the two of us for a couple of days, I guess. I told them no when they offered, and I really wanted to find a different solution ‘cause I can’t just go around dumping my family drama on people,” you said, your tone growing more and more frustrated with every word, “but I can’t think of anything else.”

Knowing the way Aziraphale was wasting his miracles with felt like a kick on the head for Gabriel, and the burning pressure of anger that crawled up his neck when he remembered that the Principality was no longer under his command and was _free_ to do whatever pleased him with the power the Almighty had given him did nothing to soothe his nerves. So that was all the frivolity he had chosen to entertain instead of following his very precise instructions and procuring the Armageddon as- Your distraught growl brought him back to the surface, and he rubbed his temples, not because his head was hurting but because physical touches were always effective when he tried to focus in the present.

“They offered a good option,” he admitted with heavy reluctance, considering that the only other solution was for him to take his belongings and just disappear. That wasn’t going to happen, but he was glad you never seemed to ever entertain that thought. “It’s just a night.”

You checked your phone again. “Yeah, but... I just don’t-!” you grunted again, unable to find your words.

Gabriel knew what you meant. He could feel your frustration in the air as if it was his own, and it tasted bitter and unwelcoming. You were very open about many topics, but your family was one of the few ones that was best to leave untouched. He had learned to navigate throw them like a sailor in the mist, guided blindly by how easy or how difficult it was to read your feelings at that moment. Sometimes, if your memories were good, the mist was see-through and he could breath easily through the conversation, but other times it became a very solid beast that hissed and recoiled wildly, harsh and grim, and you shut him off and changed the topic as if just thinking of it burned you.

Your brother had made many promises and they were just sound in the air, no real meaning behind them. No time of arrival, no plans beyond imposing his presence in your life, no prior warning but a ‘hello, it’s me, I’m here’ as he dumped his existence on you. 

Your nervousness reared its ugly head, growing and claiming you until your mind didn’t want to eat your dinner, curled up in a tiny ball of self pity on the couch. Gabriel knew it would be impossible to convince you to eat anything but he tried anyway, and you were clearly in the wrong disposition for a cheering conversation too. He was sure you would bite him, quite literally -that was the reach of your anger-, if he even tried to offer a solution. 

...Not that he had any. 

He watched you make a new call, Aziraphale’s voice coming softly from the other side of the phone, as you informed them that you had changed your mind and that you would very much like to bring your fucked up sibling to the bookshop for an _exciting night of bonding and an even more exciting sleep over_. You had tried to keep yourself together as you spoke with the angel, and Gabriel could see how much you actually wanted to gag and throw the phone through the window.

As he went to bed, forcing himself to leave you alone with your thoughts because that seemed to be exactly what you wanted, Gabriel knew it was going to be a rough night for you. The fact that he knew there was no way he could help you pained him even more.

* * *

He didn’t fall asleep. 

Not because he couldn’t, but because his mind was loud as an airplane engine, buzzing with meaningless thoughts. He had heard you eventually retire to your room for the night, your steps sloppy and dragged as you slithered your socked feet on the cold floor. They echoed in the darkness, thundering as war drums, and Gabriel was so focused on them and on the apathetic rhythm of your breath he could have swore you were standing beside his bed, still as a statue and just as feeling, instead of resting your turmoil a wall away. You laid on the bed and the sprinkles groaned, you groaned at them in answer and then, after some aggravated rustling of fabric, most likely your bedsheets, the silence reigned again.

The hours ticked by, thick and slow as pouring honey. 

Gabriel stayed awake, sleep refusing to meet him, when his heart started to pick up rhythm on its own volition. He put his hand right above it on his chest, confused as to why it was doing that when he hadn’t willed it to. Could he change the pattern if he wanted? He hadn’t thought of it before, as it was a function his body took care of. The thumping felt strong, and resounded in his ears and inside his head like a stubborn hammer.

The whisper of familiarity sparked in his mind. He had felt _just like that_ the night before! That’s what he had wanted to ask you! His body rebelling to the sensations you produced, dulled from your dreams but still unbearably strong. The air had sizzled, charged with energy and his skin had crawled and raised in goosebumps. There had been palpable excitement, and your sensations had pulsated with... _he didn’t know what._ He didn’t know, God.

It had been thrilling. New and adventurous, and his head was as fuzzy as it was focused, straight as an arrow, filled with cotton balls and sand, and clear as a sunny day. How could that be possible? What on Earth were you feeling, what were you dreaming of that could light him in such a way? 

And now he was waiting under his covers, practically squirming with eagerness and impatience at the chance of exploring such a unique experience once again. What was it? What was it, that it had set him aflame? What-?

Sounds came from the wall that separated your rooms, breathless and agitated. Oh, that had happened, too. Rustling, whispers, tossing and turning. You had called his name, and he hadn’t dared to do a thing. You were always a talkative dreamer, and more than once he had held absurd conversations with you as you dozed off on the couch, but last night had been the first time you had called for him.

He hadn’t known how to react then. 

It had been a fresh new situation and he had been frozen to the sensations like a deer in the headlights. Tonight? He was ready to jump into action. The second he heard a breath that minimally resembled a ‘g’, he was going to go into your room and demand an extensive explanation. 

Humans felt like that? They could feel like _that_ and you had withheld the information from him? Was it a corporal, material creature thing? Could it be done at will? Could he elect to feel that high at will, too, considering his nature? How, what-?

There wasn’t any excitement. 

The air did feel like it was boiling, but in the coldest way, as the feverish trembles of a sickened soul. His heart kept beating wild as a horse, and his hands still shook, but his stomach felt heavy as if he had swallowed rocks. The answer to his unspoken question seeped through him as a bucket of water, and it chilled Gabriel to the bone. Whatever you had felt the previous night, this wasn’t it.

An impending sense of doom permeated the apartment, guided and encouraged with the sounds from you that the wall couldn’t quiet. Gabriel knew now, for he had felt that way more often that he would like to admit. Nightmares were not easy to face when you were defenceless and trapped inside your mind.

He waited again, dread coursing through his veins. Should he wake you up, knock on the wall and bring you back from your dreams? He could hear you whimper, a painful, primal sound, and some more erratic kicks found their way to the wall again.

In any other occasion, Gabriel knew his aid was always welcomed; you had told him as much, both with words and gestures. But the night belonged to you, and if something could shake you the way your dreams were doing, the Archangel wasn’t so sure you would want him at your side. Your privacy was the thing you valued most, and now his hands were tied.

The choking feeling grew, and it made itself known with dark enthusiasm. Gabriel laid still, heartbeats big and rushed as if he was being hunted down, and he didn’t dare to fight the feeling, as he couldn’t control his body now that it was lost to the fear clutching your dreams.

A panicked gasp shattered the silence, and Gabriel knew you were now awake.

For what seemed like hours, he heard you breath as if you had surfaced from deep water, and your pants were interrupted with restrained sobs, but you voiced no words. If his solution for the nightmares haunting his head was a shower and a cup of tea in your company, yours always seemed to be the opposite. It was concerning, as Gabriel couldn’t think of anything worse than being alone with one’s fears. You absorbed them back, and forced your way through life, and found strength in their denial instead of in conflict and resolution. If he had to choose something to hate on Earth, that would be it.

You stood, and pitifully drove yourself to the door, creaking it open, and then he could hear your body slumping on the sofa. Gabriel waited again, but his patience was dissolved in a fit of nervousness at the stillness of the atmosphere. He put on a sweater to fight the early morning cold and picked another one in his hands, the softest one he could find in his wardrobe, and marched to the living room with determined purpose behind his strides.

There you were, knees to your chest, curled up on the couch. You hair was a rat nest, and your eyes were watery and red and angry under the deep frown of your brows. Gabriel couldn’t have expected any less, and you looked even worse than he had feared, but said nothing -and neither did you-, when he knelt before you and helped you put the sweater he held on as if you were a child.

The Archangel brushed your hair back with his hands, and his heart sank when you kept hiding your eyes from him regardless of how much you usually appreciated that gesture. He reminded himself that you not rejecting his actions had to count as a victory considering the situation. He left you there and returned a few minutes later with a mug of tea, and you accepted his offering again, quiet as a mouse.

The fact that you hadn’t uttered a sound after your cries worried him, and his guts twisted uneasy. He sat beside you, close enough for you to search for him if you wanted to, but not enough to be actually touching you, concerned that he could overwhelm you in such a state. The atmosphere around you said nothing, dense and cold and still as swamp water, and he didn’t know how to act or what to say without the guidance of your feelings out in the open.

He wasn’t used to this. Angels up in Heaven _communicated_ -as much as the decorum allowed- their needs and problems. That was the first, most important step to solve them. How could he assist you if he was swimming blindly in an infested sea? How, in the Almighty’s name, did the humans do it, when the threat of a wrong, ill-timed comment implied the risk of disappointment, or anger, or...?

So Gabriel waited again. 

He liked to tell himself he was a being of great patience, but it was a lie. He _was_ patient, yes, but only as long as things flowed the way he wanted. The moment there was a screw amiss, he was up in arms and ready to jump into action. He couldn’t help it. 

“Did you have a nightmare last night too?”

You snapped your head up and it scared Gabriel like nothing else had until point in his existence. He looked at you, eyes wide as saucers, and you looked right back into his eyes.

“ _...What?_ ”

He felt unusually uncomfortable under your gaze, and fought his body as he had been doing the whole night, but this time to stop himself from squirming. “I heard you.”

“ _What?_ ” you repeated, as if the words were difficult to grasp.

“You called, didn’t you?” He sighed, “I didn’t go because you were dreaming and I was sure you didn’t mean for me to go to you, but if today is anything to go by...” He cleared his throat and twiddled his thumps, now definitively aware that he was uncomfortable. 

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” you wailed, hiding you face in your hands, and curling onto yourself even deeper, shaking your head in denial. Gabriel was overpowered by a strong feeling of embarrassment on top of all the dreadful dream anxiety already coating you. “ _I can’t believe you heard that, what the fuck! Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, kill me now!_ ” you cried, and then let out a string of words in a different language. It was probably a cursing so vulgar a sailor would have blushed like a maiden.

He patted your shoulder awkwardly, lightly, as he would do if he was attempting to check if a pan was actually hot. You whined once more, the embarrassment growing like a weed, but leaned against him, still shaking your head. He welcomed the change. After all, he had far more experience dealing with your clinginess, even if you were doing it weirdly. Suddenly, he realised you were not searching for physical comfort, but that you were trying to hide yourself from him again, and you were using his body to do so.

“No need to be like this,” he tried to comfort you, twisting and turning to try and find your face when he noticed your nose poking him somewhere between his ribs and shoulder blades, “everybody has nightmares like that. It’s quite alright.”

You whined even more, but gave him no answer, occult from his eyes inside the folds of his enormous sweater. The only parts from you he could see now were the top of your head and the nape of your neck, and they were furiously red and warm. 

It didn’t feel like anger. Why on Earth were you reddening now for if-?

Oh. 

_Alright._

Now he wanted to see the colour of your face. Would you glow in the dark?

He asked you as much, out of innocent curiosity, and you smacked his arm angrily, covered with his clothes like a turtle inside its shell. While he couldn’t exactly see it with his eyes, the bubbling sensation grazing his skin was proof enough of how hard you were actually blushing.

The Archangel snickered, and you spluttered again, hissing like an angry cat. “Shut up, Gabriel!”

He had to smile, mostly as a kneejerk reaction, because your voice had the same edge it adopted when his teasing was too much for you to handle. “But are you?”

“No, I’m not glowing in the fucking dark, shut your mouth!” you cried, and smacked him again when he chuckled at your whines. “Shut up, shut up!”

Well, that was better, he considered.

It was easy to be like this, familiar and close, and as the cloud of anxiety lifted, slowly but surely, you snaked your arms around him, your fingers reaching to hold him. Yes, you kept shaking your head, and smacking him square in the chest whenever he made far too cheeky a comment for your liking. Yes, you almost bit him just because when it was his turn to hug you and you _did_ kick him like a wild donkey when he used the advantage his size and your distraction provided to tickle you into a booming crying laughter.

“Stop kicking me, you gremlin,” he protested, and had to hold your hands each in one of his to keep you from tickling him back. God, you were vicious. 

“You started this!”

“Well, I’m finishing it!”

“As if!”

Your worries kept crawling around both of you, but they seemed lighter, and forgotten, and you were far too busy wage warring with him to pay them any attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello....
> 
> Good? Good? Say it's good?
> 
> Family drama will begin next chapter but I needed to give them a break because it's going to be a HUGE mess. Also, I don't know how else to show THEY'RE IN FUCKING LOVE BUT UTTERLY STUPID, SO TAKE THIS FLUFF I'VE DISHED AND SUFFER WITH ME!
> 
> As always, if you have any kind of suggestion or scenario you'd like to see in the fic just let me know and I'll see if I can make it happen!
> 
> Also, you guys have obviously noticed my absence (HARD NOT TO, IT'S BEEN A BLOODY MONTH), and some of you were worried about it. Well, suffer no more! You can always reach for me through tumblr (@kuvvydraws), and I've been active there this whole time.   
> Many anon questions. 
> 
> Awesome questions, for real. 
> 
> PLOT WORTHY DEVELOPMENTS HAPPENING IN THERE SO CHECK IT OUT!!!!
> 
> .  
> .  
> .
> 
> WE HAVE FANART! And you can find it in my art blog in Tumblr (@kuvvydraws). You can also contact me thorugh my main, trash blog (@yatinga). It makes me so happy when you guys talk to me! <3
> 
> [I'm planning ahead -WAY AHEAD- but I did say we'll be having smut here. I want to know if you guys want me to warn about it in the tags, in the chapter's title, if you want some '*****' visual warning before it happens, or if you consider better to just integrate it within the general narration and flow.... You know, that kinda thing B)]
> 
> [[BTW, DO LEAVE IN THE COMMENTS SOME KINKS YOU GUYS WANT TO EXPLORE WITH THE BITCHASS ARCHANGEL AND I'LL TRY MY BEST TO GET THEM IN THE FIC. STAY THIRSTY, PEOPLE <3]]
> 
> \-----------  
> Smex update section [it won't happen anytime soon, just so you know]:  
> · I'll write a (*) in the chapters that will have smut to warn you guys.  
> ·Praise kink (for both)  
> · Hair-pulling (for Gabriel)  
> ·Dom/Bossy (for Gabriel)  
> ·Accidental stimulation (for Gabriel)  
> ·Wing kink


	21. Two Days, One Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're so tired, and everyone around you is so full of shit. It's kind of amazing at this point.  
> Gabriel is around like a puppy.  
> Crowley has feelings.  
> Aziraphale is a blessing on Earth.  
> Shameless flirting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S MY BIRTHDAY BIIIITCH!!!!
> 
> I'm turning 22 and if I'm getting presents today then so should you and that's why I brought this chapter. I was finished and edited yesterady, but I was stubborn af despite how much I actually wanted to post! Torture for everyone, yay!
> 
> This is the longest chapter to the date so enjoy the reading and I'll see you in the End Notes

Helplessness haunted you, an impending shadow lurking in plain daylight, reaching to grab at you with greedy claws made of sorrow. And just like a shadow, there was no way to scape it; the only option was to kneel and beg for it to be quick.

You truly despised feeling like that and knowing the reason that was causing such a feeling in you was even worse, an oncoming train ready to run over you while you were still tied to the rails.

It was the worst of sensations, having nightmares about your family, and that made you feel both wary and incredibly guilty. Why were you having such a difficult time, why couldn’t you just take a deep breath and put yourself together? Many, many people had it so much _worse_ than you.

You had a decent childhood, and your parents, while very strict and with a temper that could bring down a boar, had never hit you, or even threatened to. You had lacked nothing, and yet you had felt unhappy. You were the firstborn, the promised one, the heir -no matter how old-fashioned that concept was. Their hopes on you had been heavy as a mountain, and their insistent expectations crushed your spirits to the point the only thing you had wanted was to run. Get up, travel far away, and leave them and their demands behind. When the time came, the weight that dragged you down, that held you still and firmly planted under their wishes, had not lifted yet you had fought against them wildly, like a wounded and cornered dog, and forced your way far from the talons that dig in you.

What an ugly notion, escaping from the very same people that had raised you. And oh, how you had craved it.

Your dreams were ugly, too. Almost a year since you had made your little nest in England, surrounded by the cacophony of curly accents and the cold, unforgiving weather, and there you had flourished, pushing the ties that anchored you back in a dark, hidden corner of your mind and encouraged by the expectations you had wished for yourself. With time, the nightmares had faded, but it was only foolish thinking to hope for them to dissolve into nothing, and even worse when you had tricked yourself into believing that you were actually unreachable.

You had been, oh, so _very_ wrong.

In the silent night, when the corners of your mind blurred with sleep and your control was lost to your panic, your dreams had found a niche of their own, and they poked at you, prodding and pinching, and never left you rest, orchestrating your fear to hold you down with noose tight around your neck. Your brother had come, his silhouette strong in your mind, not alone but accompanied by the rest of your kin, posing like a general ready for war. There had been yelling, accusing and arguing so loud you had only wished to disappear. From the mist that surrounded the chorus emerged heads, all twisted, all recognizable with the faces of your mother, you father and the rest of your family, and they smiled at your with wretched teeth and cursed voices, each of their blaming words an added weight to the shackles you had thought forgotten. Mercilessly they dragged you back, apart from everything you had achieved to this point, far from the pride and safety of your new life, and it mattered not how hard you struggled, or you own yowling, or your pleas. You could just see dark, and feel their hands on your body, raising skin and scratching their nails into your muscles in their attempts to claim you.

There had been no end to it, just deep hopelessness, until you had awoken.

You liked to tell yourself you didn’t usually suffer from nightmares, that you had honed a fine technique for avoiding such unpleasant thoughts over the years, that your meticulously crafted shell was impenetrable. Most of the time, that particular lie paid off. It was as easy as to overwhelm your mind with things you _did_ like to think about, sweeping the unwanted ones under a heavy, thick rug where their voices could not be heard.

...You didn’t always succeed.

But now it was good, somehow, as if the unease that rocked your mind had been forced into stillness and you were fairly footed once again. You were warm, comfortable, and you could feel Gabriel’s body right by yours, his solid presence a balm for your wounded nerves. His hand was on you, on your lower back, holding you up so you wouldn’t fall off the couch, and the pads of his fingers rubbed soothing circles on your skin. Instead of crawling back to the unpleasant demons your brain forged, their screams still ringing loud in your ears, your first thought was addressed to that same hand. You realized you weren’t dressed in your pyjamas, but with that sweater he had brought you in the death of the night, which hung baggily on you as if you had draped yourself with a bedsheet. He had to manoeuvre and bunch up stupid amounts of fabric and folds to be able to reach and caress you as he intended, the damned fool.

The fact that he had to battle his own clothing forced a snicker out of you, and suddenly the picture of the Archangel fighting rows and rows of folds like the Sleeping Beauty’s godmothers was all your mind could conjure. Disney could pay you sweet gold for that picture.

“Awake already?” Gabriel asked, rudely popping your bubble, and his voice was deep and rumbly as always, if a bit cautious. His other had travelled up and tangled between the locks of your hair and, instead of opening your eyes, you buried your nose back against him, unwilling to face the day just yet. You growled, protesting. You were good now, at ease in that little cocoon, why ruin it with reality?

“No,” you pouted, an assertive edge of conviction in your drowsy voice, and his hands kept pressing against your skin like a blanket and petting your head. He huffed and you felt his breath on your hair, and honestly, you didn’t care if it was out of amusement or irritation. Why choose? Could be both, could be neither, and it’s not like it mattered.

You were hungry, and your head ached like someone had invested their time in demolishing your skull with a very solid maze. The fleeting thought of swallowing a bucket of pills and sleep the next month off came in a spark of lightning, but left just as quickly, the pending menace your family’s ire shooing it away with stern severity. Either face the music of face the consequences, the options ended there.

You let out a grouchy huff, your anger sizzling inside your chest once more, and willed your eyes close vehemently, turning your back even more to the ghostly light that filtered in the room through a thin separation between wall and curtain. It was meant for Sartorius, your beautiful, thick-leaved son who was still miraculously alive, as his pot was strategically located on top of his stool to take advantage of that little, sunny consolation even in the dimmer of days. Now, however, the sun was just pissing you off, shattering the illusion of a peaceful morning, and you asked Gabriel about the time, secretly hopping he would deny you an answer. The hand in your hair left, and you mourned the loss as he twisted his wrist to peer into the glass sphere of his far-too-good-to-take-outside watch.

“Eight in the morning,” he said.

You stretched with a groan, more a complain than the usual sound of pleasure that action would force out of you. “You know? I had planned for a day of baking today. Bought the flour and everything. It was going to be a good chance to spurt cherry syrup at you. I was going to ruin your jumper _so bad_ , you have no idea.”

“Baking is good,” he retorted with a deadpan. Of course, you knew that was going to be his only defence, unbreakable and equally unshakable in his humble opinion, because the whole thing implied measuring, timing and following precise steps, and, in short, becoming a kitchen robot. You would bet all your books measuring cups made your roomie rock hard. The way he looked at them, the nerd… Gabriel curled his lips, but not in a pleasant gesture, his thoughts traveling in a very different, far holier direction than yours. “But syrup…”

…The syrup.

Why the fuck had you mentioned the syrup.

You shouldn’t think of Gabriel covered in syrup, however. Look where that has brought you. Now, that was a problematic picture to forget. Gosh, you were going to Hell and they were going to crown you queen.

“That’s why I got the strawberries, duh. That’s fruit, and you like fruit; it was going to be my bribe to get you to collaborate,” you confessed, and then pouted once more. “Now they’re going to go bad. You better eat them while I’m out.”

Gabriel protested again. “They’re too sweet.”

“You’re _too_ sweet!” you kneejerk mocked him, and your tone proved -before your mind could catch up with what you were actually saying- a well-intended insult rather than a compliment. That, naturally, did not stop the avalanche of teasing you had just invoked for yourself.

One day, you should really learn to think before speaking. It would save you _so much_ trouble.

“…Am I now?”

It was a good thing that Gabriel couldn’t see your face, and that you refused to meet his, your words backfiring. What you were aware of, and painfully so, were the pads of his fingers still working on your skin, applying gentle pressure along the ridge of your spine, and how, curse him, his other hand returned to its place on your head, tugging at your hair lightly as it sweep its way around your scalp. Whether he was trying to guide your head back to get a look at you or it was just plain, _fucking_ teasing, you didn’t want to know.

Pushing his voice far, far away, as well as how close it sounded -which only reminded you from _where_ it came from, and that had the terrifying chance of reminding you of the uncalled-for pictures your mind liked to conjure of him, _and it was not the time to go through that now-_ , you focused on the preparations you had to ready for your brother’s visit.

…Well, that was indeed an effective way to kill all the heat. You had just found your own chill-pill, and it was your family and that was gross.

And just at that, as if springs had suddenly grown on your feet, you patted Gabriel’s arm mid-jump as you left the couch and his embrace, and dashed towards the mug he had brought from the kitchen last night, now cold and half-filled with tasteless tea. _Undrinkable_ , you thought with pity, your inner gremlin wailing at the waste; _you had intended to have that for breakfast_. The Archangel was left there, butt buried in cushions, as you made your way around the apartment, picking up stuff and putting everything in order in the usual fashion of a person avoiding their thoughts as hard as they could.

“Gotta get ready, G, no time for stalling,” you justified, shrugging your shoulder at his inquisitive look. You were not the cleanest of people, alright, but you did tidy up your den from time to time and his knowing look was just insulting.

Busy as a bee once you got your productivity mojo flowing, you were already making a list, in your head, of things you would need to pack for your stay at Aziraphale’s bookshop. The weather was a something to consider, and should you buy some food? You know, out of manners, because you were certain Aziraphale would bark in your face if you brought something expensive, and Crowley was not above throwing it out of the window…

Going in your room was an extracorporeal experience, and one you forced yourself to ignore as you went through the motions, looking beyond the picture your nightmares had created. The place was dishevelled, as if a gang of raccoons had thrashed it in a fit of rage. The bed was covered with tousled sheets, the half-dozen pillows you liked to sleep with scattered around the space as if a bomb had propelled them to random directions. The only one that had been relieved of such a fate was the cushion Gabriel had gifted you, and only because you had rescued it up from the floor to cry your nightmare into its softness. Beautiful memories all over, baby.

You danced between the books that covered the wooden floor, throwing the pillows that were in your way back on the bed, as you targeted your closet.

You had thought about using your workbag for carrying your stuff, emptying its contents _somewhere_ -a problem for future you- and then re-filling it with what you could need, but it was too much work, and you would have to face smug-ass Gabriel still on the couch, and your bottle opener was still in there too, and you didn’t want to change its place lest you forgot where you had put it now and what if you misplaced it, and you needed it! …So, the rattled bag from your closet would have to do.

 _Anything_ to avoid the Archangel’s face.

Underwear, a change of clothes, socks, your phone charger… A towel! Just in case. Better safe than sorry. What else, what else… Soft, unconcerned but purposeful steps approached your door, and the wooden frame creaked in protest when Gabriel leaned his weight on it. Bitch knew his poses, and you were sure he was cocking his hip, arms crossed and everything, in his signature Insufferable Boss Stance **™**. Little did he know, they were useless if you didn’t look!

“Have your brother, perchance, called you to inform you about the time of his arrival?”

It hung in the air like a frozen curse. Both of you knew the answer to that question, and Gabriel had asked it either for the sake of propriety, to assure you that whatever had happened that night wasn’t going to be a topic of conversation if you didn’t want it to be, or to keep tabs on the events. You hadn’t checked your phone yet, and it was probably missing among all the stuff in your room until a rescue party was sent to find it, in whichever state it would turn out to be. Battery-less and dead? Neat. Cracked screen? Nice. Smashed buttons or chipped back? Dope. Nightmare-you was a Neanderthal -with no respect for regular, gremlin-you, to your chagrin-, and your phone would have to be a forensic project if the odds were generous. 

Another pair of folded socks was thrown in the messy deeps of your bag. It was the third pair in there already, and neither you nor your nerves saw the need to stop. There are never too many socks. That’s not a thing. No, you were not worried about your brother. You grabbed another two pairs, already aiming. Could you get them in without looking? Could you-

Gabriel stepped in and grabbed them mid-air, threw them back at you and then retrieved the last pair that had made it inside the bag. The three clusters returned to their drawer with a swift twist of his wrist - _perfect aim_ , your brain hissed enviously-, and you pouted.

He raised a brow at you, and you scrunched your nose back at him, your jaws working out of nervousness no matter how hard you tried to play it cool, and you forced a painful to watch shrug. “Nah, phone’s gone MIA.”

He held your hands, crouching before you, as you tried to fish for the socks again. “Breathe.”

“I’m breathing,” you snapped, tugging your hands back uselessly, but the Archangel wouldn’t free you.

“Look at me and breathe again, then.” Gabriel took a second for your hands to strop trembling, and it was a lost second. You were long gone, deep inside your head and preoccupied with your stupid family inserting themselves back in your life via battering ram if necessary. It was your brother now, yes, and any normal person wouldn’t be on the verge of puking just because of his visit, but you had read this particular tale a lot of times. It wouldn’t stop there. The guy had just opened a door and now everything could be taken as an invitation. They were like sharks, and if they could sense any blood in the water… Gabriel tightened his grip on your hands, almost painfully, and it was so sudden it brought you back faster than a slap to the face would have. You surfaced again and his eyes on yours were scorching. “Your brother is on his way here, or already here, I don’t know. That’s a fact, it cannot be corrected, and nothing can be done about it either. There is no point in being nervous.”

“Me being nervous is not a choice!” you grunted, frowning, and now you did take your hands back from his, so hard you almost hit your own face. “Do you think I _like_ being nervous? Because no, I don’t! I freaking hate it, and I know it’s out of my control and I don’t like that either and breathing is not helping.”

You closed off, irritated and tense, your struck temper finding a new target.

You didn’t need business Gabriel, with his chill and his calm demeanour and his easy, by-the-book solutions. Those solutions weren’t worth shit and were never useful in real life, and you knew that intimately. His pragmatic list of useful behaviours when in crisis could suckle on your toes for all you cared. It wasn’t angering, but it was frustrating, and what was worse than everything was that you _knew_ you were being unfair with him. The Archangel didn’t have fault in your fucked-up family, and you were paying it with him when he was there been sweet and understanding despite you acting up like a stray dog with rabies.

Paying not a lick of attention and absolutely unaffected by your outburst, Gabriel hummed, inched closer to the mess that nestled by your bed and rummaged a bit between a pile of sheets that you had meant to throw in the dirty laundry bag a few days before. After a good minute of twisting and tapping and dragging fabric all over, he extracted back his hand, his prize clutched easily between his fingers. He offered you your phone, battery so full it could be radioactive and screen perfect and shiny. “There is no point in getting angry,” he repeated.

You gave him and owlish look, and it would be easier for your brain to process him sprouting a second head than not snarling back, so ready you were for confrontation. You bit your tongue, regretful, rubbed your face and took your phone from him, overwhelmed by you own idiocy. “Sorry, sorry. I really shouldn’t be yelling at you, of all people. What the Hell is wrong with me, ugh.”

Gabriel shrugged once more, still crouching on the ball of his feet so his perfect ass wouldn’t come in contact with your nasty floor not even by accident and petted your tousled hair back to reveal your face. “Anger is the first sign of defeat. You can’t let them win.”

You snorted humourlessly, following the motions of his hand and just done with fighting. You would need your strength and your bad bile for your brother. “There’s the CEO I know.”

It was two days -day and a half- and one night, and you couldn’t wait for it to be over. You were going to buy your roomie that fancy, far-too-expensive-to-not-be-a-scam potato peeler, slick like a NASA rocket and made with stainless steel so neatly created it might as well be freaking Damascus. Or a food processor, or a six-armed kitchen robot that spoke twenty languages. Or a fucking Roomba, if he wanted it -under the obvious condition that he would have to name it and cherish it like an heir. And put googly eyes on it. Something. Something to show him how much his words meant to you.

Two days, one night. Two days, one night.

You chanted it like a mantra in your head, a hopeful prayer that everything would go well, and no problems arose and, basically, that good ole Murphy wouldn’t screw you over with his fuckety laws too hard.

* * *

The taxi was dirty, the music was loud and tasteless, and the seats were sticky with what you hoped wouldn’t be coke. Blood you could take, but sugar residue? No, thanks; soft drinks -as an avid consumer your opinion was based on thorough experience- were where humanity had lost the battle.

Your -miraculously intact despite the rough night- phone, clutched tightly in your claw-like grip, buzzed, and your checked it once more, ignoring with all your might the driver howling along with the melody coming from the radio. You were sure it wasn’t even the same song. Either that, or Maria Carey had swallowed a very rusty lawnmower.

**_Janthony:_ ** _When u arriving_

**_Janthony:_ ** _????_

**_You:_ ** _No idea. Bro just texted, I’m heading 2 he airport 2 pick him up_

**_You:_ ** _I’m inside a smelly-ass taxi rn_

**_Janthony:_ ** _Now?? It’s ducking l8_

**_Janthony: *_ ** _ducking_

**_Janthony:_ ** _**DucKING_

**_Janthony:_ ** _F U C K_

**_You:_ ** _There u go_

**_Janthony:_ ** _This is Aziraphale; good afternoon, dear. Please, rush not to greet your sibling, we are fully aware family reunions might take some time and you two would perhaps enjoy a window to catch up on your lives. Everything here at the bookshop is prepared for your arrival, and I must tell you now I will be very disappointed on you if you dare bring with you anything. We will be providing the food and wine. I will not hear neither tolerate any additions to this, you have been warned. Lasagne is being cooked, so you have plenty of time. Mind how you go!_

**_You:_ ** _…_

**_You:_ ** _I don’t think I’m legally allowed to protest after that so a’ight_

**_You:_ ** _< 3_

**_Janthony:_ ** _< 3_

Your phone buzzed again, a loud, seething chime that earned you a stinky-eye look from the taxi driver for cutting him mid-yowl. Scooting your butt a bit further from the sticky patch, as much as the equally dirty seatbelt would let you without immediately decapitating you, you tapped at the screen, firstly checking the route to the airport and how long it would take you to arrive, the too-good-to-be-true weather and then your texting app.

 ** _The Slimy Pest:_** _Dude where u at?_

**_The Slimy Pest:_ ** _Been ages grl_

**_The Slimy Pest:_ ** _Imma get wrinkles in ma wrinkles_

**_The Slimy Pest:_ ** _U don want an ugly ass brobro do u_

**_The Slimy Pest:_ ** _All nasty like a wet napkin_

**_You:_ ** _Quit ur bitching_

**_You:_ ** _Next time warn me earlier u butt and u won have 2 hang out with the pidgeons at the airport_

**_The Slimy Pest:_ ** _Smells like failure in here_

**_You:_ ** _That’s u after a buncha hours trapped in a flying can. Serves u right_

**_The Slimy Pest:_ ** _U in a spa or what_

**_The Slimy Pest:_ ** _whats taking u so long_

**_The Slimy Pest:_ ** _U getting dicked_

**_You:_ ** _I’m in a taxi_

**_The Slimy Pest:_ ** _But u getting dicked_

**_The Slimy Pest:_ ** _????_

**_You:_ ** _The fuck is wrong with you_

**_The Slimy Pest:_ ** _Im just sayin that’s a good excuse 2 b l8_

**_You:_ ** _..._

**_The Slimy Pest:_ ** _No need to tell me all the details. Gross_

**_You:_ ** _I’ll see you in 20’_

**_You:_ ** _b nasty again and im turning back_

**_The Slimy Pest:_ ** _Gotcha_

_Two days, one night_ , you thought. Two days, one night, and you would be free again.

There had not been any signs from your mother beyond a quick call you had made -strategically timed to catch her busy in her job to make it the shortest call possible in the history of family tricks- to let her know your brother was not being kidnapped a second time. She had, of course, known what you were doing, because there was just no way to outsmart the devil herself, but you were perfectly ill-timed to the millisecond and had gotten away with your little deception with only a light scolding and a promise for more. Consequences would come, you had no doubt about that, but you were willing to play it cool until it was time to cross that particular bridge.

You were… well, angry was not the word. Mad wasn’t accurate either, or wary. Upset, perhaps, with the guy you were about to share buttseats with you in the back of the taxi. Namely, your dumbass brother Alec. You had waited the whole morning, bones rattling inside your body like a glitching xylophone from anxiety, for your him to text you a pity message with his time of arrival. It hadn’t happened, and you had nearly carved a dent on the apartment’s floor with your stress-pacing. At some point, Gabriel had got sick of your rumbling and cursing and bitching -he said he _knew_ you were cursing, the stuck-up crap, despite you not speaking in English- and had shoved a plate with food in your hands to keep you occupied and quiet while he worked in the kitchen, immerse in his tablet doing only God-knows-what.

“You don’t know when he will be arriving, and you ate nothing last night. Might as well get that out of the way.”

Good ole Gabe.

* * *

The airport wasn’t a nice place. Well, _it was,_ because everything was shiny and full of travelling possibilities, people kept busy and out of your way and it provided thousands of jobs for people who required them. But you didn’t have to like it. The last time you had been there you were getting scolded by your mother about how to take care of yourself. She was the only person you knew who could transform a speech that was supposed to be a heart-warming farewell in a lecture about how little you knew about the world and how badly you were going to do and how you would be back home in days with your tail between your legs after society screwed you over.

You headed to Arrivals, your bag slapping heavily against your back and your wallet significantly lighter because of the emergency taxi trip, in search for your brother. The day was getting darker by the second and dinner time edged closer, and your only consolation was that, if there was someone capable of not retching at your brother, it had to be Aziraphale. Of course, you were ready to stop Crowley from grabbing your brother by the throat, which was a very likely possibility, oddly enough. You had learnt the tough way not to question Alec’s ability to test even the most tempered of characters, and Crowley definitely didn’t have one of those.

The area, as most arrival rooms, was big and mostly open, with a bunch of metal columns sprinkled around to spice up the wide concept and modern design, a tattletale proof of a recent reformation by someone fan of the Property Brothers. This particular space was also decorated with a significant lack of siblings. You scanned the whole floor, quite empty for an international airport considering the hour even though the date was promising with Halloween so close around the corner, but the result didn’t change. Zero brothers in sight. You asked the security guy nestled in a corner, and the man looked at you with the clear message that your family wasn’t his problem in the slightest. You wish you could have that look in your eye, too.

Bitterly aware that you should be home, covering Gabriel with flour like one of those cheesy Christmas movies and getting chased for retribution like the critter you were at heart, you sighed and phoned your brother. The line beeped twice and then went quiet crudely, with an abruptness that could be read as offended. Your phone buzzed a second later.

**_The Slimy Pest:_ ** _Why u callin?_

You called again and, after a long minute of insufferable tones, your brother picked up, a grunted sigh as his salute. “ _What? You’re mom now? Since when do you call?_ ”

“Since I lost a brother in London because he doesn’t know he should stay at the pickup location like a normal person. Speaking of: where are you, pissface?”

“ _McD, got hungry,_ ” Alec explained, shamelessly ignoring your chastisement, and you could see him shrugging nonchalantly in your imagination.

You shook your head an took a therapeutic moment for yourself before succumbing into beheading impulses. “Which one? Why are you there if I told you I was twenty minutes away? We’re going to have dinner at my friend’s! Dude, not cool!”

“ _I wanted a burger, gee._ ”

“He’s cooking us lasagne!” you protested, and in your head that was a very valid argument.

“ _…And I thought you were the mom friend._ ”

Another breath. In, out. In, out. _In. Out._ Two days, one night. You could do it; it was easy. “I’m at Arrivals, so come back to the airport,” you instructed, “we’re taking a taxi to his place.”

“ _I’m still eating!_ ”

“Well, then eat it as take out and drag your ass over here!”

He sighed and you swore, which made him agree stiffly. _“Fine,”_ he said, and hung up just like that.

Good God. Teenagers were the fucking worst, and now you were the crazy person growling in a foreign, cursed language in the middle of the airport. Security-man gave you another severe look and very pointedly showed you were the door was with a sharp movement of his chin. You worked your jaws, seething already, and flashed him a sharp smile. Gosh, you wanted to give him the middle finger, but the last thing you needed was to get arrested for contempt of court, of all things. The only way they were putting you behind bars would be for robbing a pet store, thank you very much.

Five minutes later, holding a backpack so big you could fit inside hanging from one shoulder and the last bite of a cheeseburger in the other hand, appeared Alec. He was at least two heads taller than you, which was no feat -Crowley probably had a few centimetres on him-, and was dressed warmly, like he had expected a much harsher weather from London. He waved the burger hand at you and gave you a cheeky smile full of teeth and crumbs.

“It’s been so long!” he yelled in your face, and you gave the fucker a hug. “When are you ever gonna come home, uh? I’m sick of mom yelling at me, when it’s your turn?”

“Very funny, hello to you too,” you sniped, calling a taxi, and you were _finally_ on your way to the bookshop. “She’s giving you trouble?”

Your brother proceeded to babble your ear off for the rest of the trip. About your father, about your mother, about how unfair it was that they were not letting him do, basically, whatever the Hell he wanted. You nodded along, listening with half an ear, as the city changed through the window.

**_You:_ ** _Be nice, we’re on our way_

**_Janthony:_ ** _No promises_

* * *

It was time for supper, and Gabriel sat alone in the kitchen, a documentary about aliens and the pyramids on the background acting as white noise. You had wrote down for him your grandma’s soup recipe, that one he liked so much with the bread, the garlic and the ham, and now he was holding one bowl and looking puzzled at the second ration he had prepared on accident just because he had forgotten he was cooking for one and not for two.

The soup was still steaming, and it smelled nice, and the Archangel knew you would appreciate a warm meal even if it wasn’t as good as if it was freshly cooked. Or if it tasted just a little bit like plastic. That was his opinion on tuppers, at least, though you never seemed to notice the odd, artificial flavour.

He had invested in glass tuppers, however, and that tiny problem was fixed. Not that you noticed, since you were easily distracted with the buzz of a fly, so he wasn’t really expecting you to. You liked them, you had said, found them fancy and everything; but glass was fragile, and you didn’t want to risk their integrity by taking them with you to eat at the restaurant, even if you had lockers. ‘Lockers’ being used liberally. Gabriel had seen those boxes too, and the very prolific dust bunnies and mould colonies in them, and he had never put a foot in the same room ever again. 

…He was still thinking about _it_. The strange feelings. Not the nightmare ones, but the ones from two nights ago. It was not like he was trying to figure it out anymore, but the thought came back to him like an impertinent child demanding a lollypop at a fair. You had laughed and cried and done almost everything a human face can do muscle-wise, including an emotional tour from grief to pure disbelief, when he had brought it up, yet Gabriel heavily suspected you hadn’t meant to do any of that.

Call it a hunch if you will.

But you didn’t give him an answer, all in all. You had just bundled up in his sweater, curled up at his side and slept. Stressfully. Could humans stress when asleep or were you a chronic kicker? You had made little noises, and while those had been cute and sort of endearing, they had told him nothing of use. And there rested his sweater, neatly folded but absolutely abandoned on one of the couch’s arms, the epitome of contradiction, the peak of your incongruous behaviour. It wasn’t the one you had stolen from him, this one, but Gabriel had a feeling you would be keeping it too.

He was willing to donate it, because you had no qualms regarding the stolen one, and used it liberally both inside and outside the apartment, and even as sleepwear because that was how little you actually cared. Perhaps he should just give you unlimited access to his sport clothes and be done with it, aware that you would find your way into his closet one way or another. There are some battles that are just not worth fighting, that much he had learnt.

He finished his meal and washed the bowl and the spoon, smiling in victory when the water splashed exactly where it was supposed to and not to his face like thousands of times before. Boy, had you laughed when it had happened the first time. Then, the Archangel proceeded to tidy up the book piles in the living room, destroying what he was sure was a castle tower under construction if the general shape and the wrinkled print paper with a sketch drawing in the middle of it were anything to go by. His books were now part of the mess, and the only way to tell them apart was thanks to the different stickers placed carefully inside the front cover of each tome. His were shaped like stars, for some reason. There was an Art’n’crafts store two blocks down the street, and you had made their whole week the day you had waltzed in there like a rabbit high on coke and bought set after set of stickers, and now those packages still appeared from time to time from the deeps under the couch no matter how much Gabriel vacuumed.

There was a subtle organization, he had discovered -mostly by accident-, to all of your messes. The one that applied to the books -because the systems were all different and absolutely random, to his chagrin, and it was a total nightmare to remember them all even if he had made himself a _croquis_ \- classified them by topics based on the colour of the sticker, and then their emplacement according to the post-it beside it. Most of them also included a brief opinion or a review about the topics, and Gabriel had always found them hilarious to read: ‘ _this bitch knew her shit’, ‘you looking for braindead? Cause you just found it’, ‘use this one to shim the stupid chair in the kitchen’,_ or _‘the book that made Steven Spielberg cry like a war widow’_ were his favourites, even if he didn’t know who Mr. Spielberg was.

Gabriel armed himself with patience and sorted through the castle-pile, checking each book to relocate them where you had intended them to be. You always tried to do it yourself, but it was just your luck that a certain topic would catch your attention and then time would fly away, and night would come with only two books actually where they were supposed to be. Fortunately, Gabriel had no interest in linguistics, and he made a quick dent in your construction in only half an hour. The books that were his returned to their corner by Sartorius’ stool, the living room ones stayed with the plant under the window too, and the ones meant for your room were gathered in his arms. 

You had stress-cleaned you room as well, he discovered. Of course, the books on the floor still stayed there, being impossible to put them on the shelves lest you wanted the structure to collapse under the impossible weight but herded against the walls in some resemblance akin to organization, which he could somehow appreciate. He deposited the books on the desk and searched in the guide-notebook-for-systems-just-in-case you had made yourself -foreshadowing that not even you could remember all your methods-, there in plain sight, to figure out where to put them without disrupting your belongings too much, and he finished as quickly as expected.

Gabriel turned around and there it was, hanging from the door handle, his stolen sweater with the embroidered wings. His first thought was for the hangers you had behind the door and why on Earth you weren’t using them, and his second one lighted him like an old-fashioned bulb. Those were your pyjamas. Your pyjamas that you hadn’t packed for your night at Aziraphale’s. Your pyjamas that now gave him a reason to go to the bookshop so he could return them to you and, possibly, meet that Alec brother of yours who was giving you so much trouble. And maybe _talk_ some sense into him. Or miracle it, if necessary.

 _Those_ pyjamas.

* * *

Crowley, or more precisely his demonic perception, could tell immediately you were ready to call it a day even when the sun was still peeking over the smog-blurred horizon. A regular person without demonic perception would have reached the same conclusion just as fast based solely on the sour expression on your face.

Aziraphale was neither.

“This place is huge!” complimented your brother, patting the angel on the shoulder as he made himself home and crossed the hall. “Smells old, too. How long has this been here?”

“Alec!” You gave Aziraphale a lame, apologizing look and the blonde took your coat, eyes sympathetic, as he welcomed you to the bookshop. “Sorry we’re late.”

Aziraphale paid your words no attention, shaking his head with a soft smile on his lips, and then he was the one patting your back, hands reassuring as he guided you inside. Crowley was upstairs, leaning out of the wooden banister like a Playboy model and still wearing his signature sunglasses despite the late hour and the soft illumination of the building; he waved a hand at you, but you knew his eyes were fixed on your brother and where he would put his paws. “‘Sup”

“You ‘sup”, you nodded, tilting your chin at him. Aziraphale’s presence washed over you, a beacon of calmness to soothe your nerves as you watched Alec take a look around and basically touch everything, and you were extremely happy he had cleaned his hands free of cheeseburger grease in the taxi. Which reminded you of your even hollower wallet and brought a grimace back on your face. You whistled at your brother to catch his attention. “Hey, critter. Gonna’ say hello or something?”

In his defence, Alec did look honestly embarrassed. “Sorry, sorry,” he said as he approached Aziraphale again and shook his hand, “I’m not even into books but this place, man, is _something_.” 

“Thank you very much; Aziraphale,” introduced himself the angel, and then pointed upwards to the banister, “and that would be Crowley.” Crowley waved again. “Shall we go upstairs? The table is all set, and then we can dine and start the sleepover properly.”

“Looking forward to it?” you teased and Aziraphale wiggled, nodding.

And that you all did, Alec awing and oohing at every trinket he could spot on his way to the second floor. You had done, and still did, the very same thing every time you set a foot inside the bookshop, finding new discoveries each time, which seemed to please and amuse Aziraphale to no end. On top of the stairs waited Crowley, respecting the two-meter perimeter Aziraphale had established to keep him from altering the food in any way, form or shape, with the same expression a cat would gaze at a forbidden Christmas tree with.

The ginger shook your brother’s hand too, if a bit warily. “Lasagne’s just outa’ the oven”, he lied.

Aziraphale had kept it warm with a tiny little miracle, and while the demon’s words weren’t too far off, as the angel had somehow timed the cooking almost perfectly, Crowley could have wished for more time with him to properly _appreciate_ his darling’s skills. You know, like, eating him out on the dinner table, or something like that. But it’s whatever. So now he sat in front of a nearly cooked to perfection plate of lasagne, you at his left and Aziraphale on his other side, and your sibling in front of him, as he suffered from _coitus interruptus_ with as much decorum as he could muster.

“Where you from, hm? You got an accent too!” your brother wondered, pointing at Crowley with his fork. You were too busy eating, sending the angel a chef’s kiss for the lasagne, but seconded the question wholeheartedly tapping your fingers. You had been wanting to ask that for ages now, and while you suspected the answer, you wanted a confirmation from the actual source. Aziraphale’s accent, posh and melodic and just _impeccable,_ had always made you curious too, and you gave him a look that was meant to tell him his turn was next, and he had no way out of it.

“Uhh, I’m, ugh-” Crowley clinked his fork on the plate, stomach clenched because he was about to miracle the lasagne away just when Alec addressed him. He gave your brother a toothy smile, and Aziraphale helped himself with the contents on his lover’s plate despite having his own still full. Crowley squeezed the angel’s thigh thankfully. “Scottish. I’m Scottish, yeah. I’ve been ‘bout everywhere tho’, so I kinda’ lost the accent.”

“Never been there,” said your brother, determined to lead the conversation. Crowley surrendered, gave you a look, and fully invested himself in extracting from your sibling all the embarrassing stories he could regarding your childhood. You kicked him under the table, a mean hit straight to the shin, and he blew you a kiss in retaliation, encouraging Alec on the anecdote about you chasing a stray dog and knocking yourself out with a streetlight when you were six, thus obtaining your first baby tooth. Your parents were so upset with how careless you were that day the Tooth Fairy brought you a note lecturing you about the dangers on the street instead of a coin. Crowley laughed so hard he almost spat his wine on you, and you elbowed Alec, shaking your head at their goofiness. 

As a member of the generation born in the new century and an avid internet consumer, Alec’s English was fluent, if not as articulated as yours -daily practice would do that to you, although if that was considered torture or beneficial was still out for deliberation in your very humble, very stressed opinion-, and you noticed he was trying to practice. The boy had a way with languages, you knew, and YouTube provided with a wide enough selection of accents to interpret for him to have no troubles with Crowley’s pronunciation. It made you a bit jealous, you had to admit, for you had to ask the redhead from time to time to repeat himself just because you couldn’t catch some words, and it embarrassed you to no end even knowing Crowley wouldn’t hold it against you.

Aziraphale made his mission to comfort you, the sweetheart, crafting his own conversation with you to entertain those thoughts away from your mind. He had gone to a little _patisserie_ you discovered some foodie internet blogs recommended and he was eager and delighted to share his experience with you. The angel talked about the cupcakes, the muffins -the difference between them, which you still didn’t get despite his passion and his patience- and about the lovely date he had with Crowley there. He gesticulated excitedly, talking with his hands, waving his fork around, drinking and nodding along your comments, very pleased with your interest in his little adventures around town.

“You must show me how to, hum, _subscribe_ -I believe is the term- to this foodie blogs you have found, dear. I admit my dear boy here,” he squeezed the demon’s hand, and Crowley blushed accordingly, “had tried his best, but I am quite forgetful with the new technologies.”

You grinned and Crowley kept his eyes pointedly adverted from your face, cheeks on fire and resolute to get from your brother as much blackmailing material as he could in retaliation. “No prob. You’ve already gotten better with the phone, texting and everything, and it’s no trouble.”

Aziraphale’s smile was bright, and the lamp placed behind him, golden and old fashioned like everything else in the bookshop, lighted his curly white hair like a halo. Something clicked in your head, and a memory pushed forward, bringing a picture of Gabriel looking the exact same way as the sun set in the afternoon, crowning him with a glowing shine as if on purpose. It could be just incidental, or your mind falling for the tricks of the light, or the lack of sleep dragging your logic down like a professional wrestler.

You didn’t know.

...But they looked like _angels_. 

A second later, Alec guffawed at something Crowley said, Aziraphale turned his head to check what was ongoing on that side of the table, and the spell shattered. You blinked, out of the daze. How curious, the angel thingy, because you had never seen Crowley reflected like that. _It was the light_ , you dismissed, clearing your throat to deflect the attention from your blatant staring. Neither men paid any mind to your weirdness, busy as they were cackling and giggling like idiots, fully invested in whatever your brother was saying now. You were glad the guy knew how to be charming when he wanted, and welcomed the diverted attention for a little while, a well-deserved break.

Soon enough, the food was finished and you all teamed up to tidy the room and the kitchen, Aziraphale packing the leftovers in a tupper for you to take home the next day -he was exceedingly good at ignoring your protests about not wanting to impose and you guessed, quite correctly as the demon confirmed you later, that he had honed such perfect skills because of Crowley’s tantrums- and you were all moved to the mysterious third floor. It was basically a huge living room, and they explained their actual quarters were downstairs but the couch -disproportionately big and certainly impossible to fit through the door yet there it was- could be unfolded into a bed so you and Alec could spend the night comfortably enough.

At this point, you were just glad neither you nor your brother had shoved your feet in your mouths and prayed that the night kept developing like that. Somehow, Alec was always entertained in conversation with either Crowley or Aziraphale, and while you couldn’t confirm they were doing it knowingly, you were pretty sure it was like that. You had neither proof nor doubts about it, but since it helped keep your mind away from your family, you let it happen. There would be enough time for uncomfortable topics when they went to sleep and you and Alec were left alone, and you weren’t exactly looking forward to it. One thing was clear, you weren’t going to be the one bringing anything up, you promised yourself.

“You have no idea,” you told Crowley with a relieved sigh, “of how glad I am that everything is going smoothly. I owe you guys big time.”

“Shut up,” he answered, flashing you a grin.

Crowley was kind of relieved, if you must know. Since the last time he had seen you, your stress and your nerves so high they could actually reach Heaven itself, he had been worried. Not that he would admit it out loud, but Aziraphale knew how to read him well enough for words to be unnecessary.

Overwhelming lust _aside_ , the last time you had visited you had been upset, and you lunch with them had provided with plenty of clues to understand that you were apprehensive, to put it lightly, about your family visiting you. They didn’t have that kind of relationship with anyone, being created out of nothing and all that, and God Herself wasn’t a fine example of peak parenting.

Yet, your emotions were right there under their noses, and it was not like they could ignore them. You can’t overlook a tornado even if you tried, and they were rather involved with the natural disaster that was you to just turn tails and pretend nothing was happening. 

You had crossed the door, discomfort steaming off you in waves, trailing behind that guy that had to be related to you by force if the shape if your noses and the similar hair colour was anything to go by. Aziraphale had verified with a mere look that the positive feelings, the ones he couldn’t quite get because of his demonic nature, were dim and weak. Now it was their mission to cheer you the fuck up, and Crowley would be damned -twice now- if he didn’t owe you as much.

Your brother - _Alec_ , he reminded himself- wasn’t unpleasant so to speak, but he could see where you were coming from when you said he could be a bit too much. A bit abrasive, lacking an inside voice despite the late hour, and a bit pushing too, he had the tendency to dismiss some of your arguments, brushing them off almost like an afterthought. Crowley didn’t believe the boy did it ill-naturedly, which meant that was something he had picked up somewhere else, and the demon didn’t like where that path was taking him. When he met Aziraphale’s eyes, he knew his angel had reached the same conclusions as him.

Still, what Crowley knew about sibling kinship started and ended back with Cain and Abel, and he couldn’t see you murdering your brother with a stone just yet. Aziraphale’s expertise in such matter was a bit wider, but he agreed nonetheless, willing to see where the evening would take them.

It took them back to the kitchen, both Alec and Aziraphale, in search for snacks as the other two unfolded the couch-bed, preparing the living room for a stereotypical night of movies and gossip and whatnot. The Principality had rescued some old-fashioned magazines and he was all in from nail-painting to boy-talks and giggles. It was late enough for pyjamas to be appropriate, and your brother was the first one to slip in the bathroom to change, Aziraphale happily munching on popcorn and talking about the films he had picked, and you prepared yourself for a night of Jerry Lewis starring the screen as you waited for your turn to change into your-

You looked again in your bag, burying your arm in its deeps and feeling around its contents. Your hands were met with a variety of textures. Surely enough, there was your towel, your underwear, your million socks and your phone charger. Toothbrush? Check. Outfit for the following day as not to look like you were doing the walk of shame the next morning? Check. The pyjamas, you ask? No, _not_ there. 

You reached for your phone, trying not to panic and remember you were an actual grownup and that Aziraphale could always let you borrow some pj’s of his own because he was the biggest sweetheart to ever exist. You still wanted to panic, so much for being functioning, as the stereotypical high-school panic of showing up in class without pants washed over you. You tapped at the screen, as little franticly as you could:

**_You:_ ** _U up?_

**_You:_ ** _Sorry its l8 but i kinda need a favour_

It took him twenty eternal seconds, but the answer did come despite the hour. 

**_He With The Scarf:_ ** _Yes? What can I help you with? Is everything alright?_

**_You:_ ** _Yeah all’s cool_

**_You:_ ** _Sorta_

**_You:_ ** _Mind going in my room for a quick sec?_

A brief pause.

**_He With The Scarf:_ ** _Yes?_

**_You:_ ** _My pjs are in there_

**_He With The Scarf:_ ** _Yes._

**_You:_ ** _Absolutely great._

**_You:_ ** _Fantastic._

**_You:_ ** _Amazing._

**_You:_ ** _Awesome._

**_He With The Scarf:_ ** _I can bring them to the bookshop, if you would like._

**_You:_ ** _DON’T YOU DARE_

**_He With The Scarf:_ ** _You need them. It is quite obvious. Also, you are typing with proper punctuation. A bit too revealing, if you ask me._

**_You:_ ** _I was NOT asking_

**_You:_ ** _Don’t you dare, you hear me? It’s ducking late!_

**_You:_ ** _*ducking_

**_You:_ ** _AUGH_

**_He With The Scarf:_ ** _I’m already on my way._

* * *

Gabriel had many starring moments in his heavenly career, if you are willing to call it that. There was the Annunciation and the raising of a young Jesus in what his Mother thought was a good ole _cannon fodder -_ but we are _not_ going there-, which was the task he was mostly known for. But he had done many, many other things. He was currently in charge of managing Heaven, the distribution and classification of particular blessings, and he had played a major role in Creation and Sorting of Earth diversity, surface animal kingdom-wise, among other, just as interesting, purposes.

Like the Unfolding of the Great Plan into Armageddon.

...It hadn’t happened, yes, but it was _supposed to,_ and God had trusted him with a metaphorical trumpet to declare damnation on the sinning souls of Earth when the Last Day came _._ Big job, even for an Archangel.

And he had manifested stars into existence, too! Nebulas, clusters, a few suns and a nice variety of moons. Saturn’s beautiful rings? His doing. Space wasn’t his area of expertise, but there hadn’t been much to do in the Old Days, when God was busy machinating humanity, and it was more like a side task to keep Heaven entertained, but he had liked it, nonetheless.

His actions always brought him appraisal and kind words from other angels, and there was a strong sense of rightness in doing God’s will that filled him with great pride every time. In Heaven, such emotions were hardly expressed outside of propriety, however; smiles, handshakes, and the most ceremonious of declarations to tie it all together, but that was the whole range.

That was what made the tickling feeling inside him even more exciting. You had no control whatsoever on your reactions, and if you were grateful or happy for something it was quite clear that the only thing stopping you from yowling like a chimpanzee was a sliver of restrain worthy of an eternal applause of recognition. You just burst in bubbles of chimes, joyous and unrestrained, and your smile was so wide and toothy it split your face in half. Would you hug him, too, or just wait in your spot, vibrating with want but stilled by manners? It was like tossing a coin, and the result was so, so very unpredictable it had Gabriel in stitches every time.

He was kind of looking forward to it, you know. Those signals were so simple and so easy to read and much, _much_ clearer than anything else other angels could come up with for the sake of modesty. So honest and clean, and so welcoming in letting him know he was doing pleasant, _right_ things.

* * *

It was a light knock on the door. The Soho was empty at night, no traffic or people to disturb the quietness, and the sign behind the glass clarified, with great politeness, that the bookshop always welcomed clients, but not at this kind of ungodly hour. Despite finding himself on a third floor, the television showing some entertaining gibberish while everyone got changed into their nightwear and the clamour of conversation loud and cheerful, Aziraphale hear the calling downstairs clear like a bell.

He brushed his thumb affectionately over the serpent’s knuckles and stood. “Someone at the door.”

“Finally,” you wheezed, and the angel raised an eyebrow, curious. You had a light cloud of embarrassment surrounding you and smiled bashfully at him, almost twiddling your thumbs. “I kinda forgot something and someone’s brought it for me. Sorry for not telling sooner.”

“Do come with, then.”

“I’ll be really quick”, you promised, and you two descended to the actual bookshop as the angel turned on a few lights. Not that he needed them, but you were grateful for them, nonetheless.

Aziraphale twisted and unlocked the few, rusty but sturdy security measures he had to protect his business from greedy strangers who understood the actual value of old books, and the solid door slid open without making a single sound beyond the light chime of the bell.

There, in the death of the night, silhouette carved in the eerie light of the shallow streetlamps and holding a plastic bag in his hands, stood Gabriel. Aziraphale had known it was him, for his Archangelic, wintery presence was impossible to miss, but he still gaped at his boss like he had come straight out of a Lovecraftian novel. At his side, you changed your weight from leg to leg and bounced on the balls of your toes. As the Principality stood there, semi-covered with the door, Gabriel raised his hand, swiftly handling you the bag.

“This is it, I believe?”

You peeked inside and surely, there was the stolen sweater, some loose pants you had laying around and even some fuzzy socks. You emitted a high-pitched sound of triumph, if the context was anything to go by, and jumped over the Archangel. “You are a _blessing._ A bloody angel, you hear me?”

Aziraphale gawked, mute as a shadow, looking at the current scene like one would witness a tsunami, quiet with wonder and horror and unable to do anything about it. Gabriel, for his part, returned your enthusiasm with a satisfied grin and allowed you to hop your hype off all up in his personal space. Aziraphale would put his hand in a jet of hellfire if the Archangel wasn’t at least a little bit flustered.

Gabriel shrugged, coughing for a moment, his frame almost blocking the door. “So, your brother has arrived; I take it all is developing accordingly, yes?”

“You’re so not meeting him,” you chided, placing a hand firmly on his chest to stop his subtle advance inside the bookshop, “so don’t even think about it. You’re so see-through, I swear.”

The Archangel didn’t seem disappointed in the slightest, and backed again to the streets with no fuss, hands pleasantly placed in his pockets as if nothing could bother him. “One day, then.”

You gave him a cheeky grin. “When pigs fly, Gabe.”

He chuckled. “That can be arranged.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat -because that was either the best, or the worst, form of flirting he had beheld in a long time- and you perked up again like a resort, hugging the bag to your chest and having the decency to blush when looking at him. “That’s right, so sorry! We’re going back upstairs again.”

“Farewell,” Gabriel said, and then nodded at the Principality shortly, seeming not to care for a fight this late. “Aziraphale.” And turned around and left just like that, making his way between the buildings. Little did you know, the first turn he made would just be an excuse to miracle himself inside the apartment again, free of the cold of the night and the bother of the trip.

“Good night,” mussed the blonde sassily, most to himself than to the man he knew wasn’t there anymore, as he closed the door and placed all the locks where they should be, and you snickered. Together, you made your way up to the third floor.

There, Crowley and Alec were engrossed in a conversation about Queen. You nodded to yourself. Of course, Lady Elizabeth was a very appropriate topic for a foreigner to bring up, with how famous the woman was worldwide and- No. Queen, not _the_ queen. Oh. _Oh,_ ok. Also British, it had to count for something.

It was getting really heated, though, because your brother wasn’t precisely a fan -your father had blasted that music like a savage when you two were young, and that had only two outcomes; you could either love it or hate it, and Alec had evolved into the latest-, while the demon fiercely advocated for the singer in life, heart and soul. Just as it was about to escalate beyond civil, you and the angel stepped in, and Alec all but bailed on Crowley’s attempts to start a fist fight.

Instead, your brother pointed at the bag in your hands and you clutched it again, more defensively this time. “Whatcha’ got there, uh?”

“My pyjamas,” was your answer, snotty as you could make it, as you twisted on your toes and headed for the bathroom to change, unwilling to give him more open chances to dig in that contestation.

“Hold on, hold on. You didn’t have them earlier?”

“Forgot them at home, someone did me a favour. Can I go change now or are we doing a third grade?”

“Third grade!” cheered Alec.

“Go change,” interceded Aziraphale, breaking an escape for you to dive in the bathroom. He had given Crowley a _look_ and now the demon was sitting on the edge of his seat, gazing up at his lover with big eyes full of gossipy wonder behind his sunglasses. Aziraphale flashed your brother a bright, kind smile. “Would you kindly go fetch the popcorn bowl from the kitchen downstairs? I’m afraid we have forgotten it there.”

“But it’s right here-?” It wasn’t. It _had been,_ of course, because Aziraphale had been munching on it before going to open the door, but a discreet miracle had taken care of that. He had juicy chinwag to share with Crowley, and the angel was certain neither you nor your brother would return to the living room until they had finished their conversation. Crowley would make sure of it; he was the best of the two at instigating minor inconveniences that seemed absolutely casual. Alec scratched his head, finding incredibly difficult to deny the cheery shopkeeper anything, and stood. “...Yeah, sure. I’ll take me only a minute.”

Aziraphale smiled again. “I don’t doubt it.”

Crowley patted his arm as the angel sat on the couch once they were alone, eyes big and wide and owlish. “So…”

“It was Gabriel.” Crowley nodded, having perceived the Archangel’s particular aura the second he had approached the bookshop. Aziraphale raised his hands and then spilled the tea, the beans and all that is possible to spill, gesticulating wildly. “Oh, dear, you’re not going to _believe_ them. Like they are-, them both! The two of them! Together. I think -Crowley, hear me here-, I think they were flirting. Could they be? Could-? Oh, Almighty. She needed her sleepwear, you see. He - _Gabriel_ , Crowley, remember we’re talking about _Gabriel_ \- brought it for her. Her sleepwear. Her _sleepwear-_ ”

Crowley held the Aziraphale’s flying hands before he could slap him on accident. “Yeah, angel, I get it. Her pj’s.” He thought for a moment. “He has access to ‘em. How does he- Do you _think_ they are- It can’t be. No one, no matter how crazy they are, would spend a second in his presence willingly. Least of all live with him. Can ya’ imagine that? Fucking insufferable wanker, I’m telling ya’. He stole ‘em or bought ‘em on his way here or somethin’.”

“He’s an Archangel, he doesn’t steal things!”

“Oh, a’ight; so, the other option is them living together so he can go inside her underwear drawer whenever he’s bored, that’s what ye’r saying,” hissed Crowley, hunching his shoulders. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m only saying we ought to keep an open mind,” sniped Aziraphale.

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s why he’s here on Earth. To date a human, of all things.”

“Well, _maybe_. I know for sure she doesn’t know about us being, uh, well. She called him an angel-” Crowley snorted, “-hush with you. She did and I swear on the Almighty he actually blushed.”

“Angel, please,” the demon scoffed with humour, shaking his head.

“They were _flirting_ ,” insisted Aziraphale, huffing through his nose.

Crowley gawked and an unpleasant shiver ran down his spine. He shook his head again, but more vigorously, as if trying to get rid of the thought by force and make a yucky sound. “That bastard doesn’t flirt.”

“He’s not any good at it, that you got right,” agreed Aziraphale, “but that they were trying, my love, _that_ you can believe too.”

Crowley zipped his mouth, flushing red like a stoplight like every time Aziraphale decided to use _those words_ on him. Gabriel and his bullshit disappeared from his head as he tried his hardest not to do something stupid because when Aziraphale called him _that_ his heart just melted and his everything told him to go kiss the angel and quit arguing. It’s not like there was any point to it. They had no other information beyond you having a surprisingly good relationship with the Archangel, and what did it matter when Aziraphale showed him that he loved him? What did anything matter, beyond his angel and how much he fucking adored him and how lucky he was to have been chosen by him? Absolutely nothing. Absolutely _nothing._

Aziraphale knew what he was doing, and was there like a solid, reliable rock when Crowley pounced on him, ready to kiss and be kissed. He was far more curious than concerned about the Archangel’s business on Earth, but as long as it didn’t involve him or Crowley, he could just watch and learn and record events like a granny watching a novella and keeping track of all of the plots and side-plots, and characters and their cousins. Now, however, he was busy cradling the demon’s jaws and working his lips on Crowley’s and just loving the serpent as he deserved.

* * *

You were so grateful to have moved out of your old house. So fucking _grateful._ You had blissfully forgotten how nerve-wrecking it was to watch anything with your brother. Alec wouldn’t shut up; he was like a bloody parrot. A joke here, a loud laugh there, a constant running commentary and an avalanche of questions to keep the mood up. He was so talkative even poor Aziraphale was hushing him, fed up with the incessant chitchat. The angel had a firm hold on Crowley too, and you could swear the ginger was foaming.

“Do ya’ think they’re gonna let him work there? He’s such a mess! Look at ‘im go! He’s just-!”

“I don’t know,” you repeated for the fourth time, eyes stubbornly facing the screen, elbowing him at the same time Crowley hissed to shush him. “We’re watching the same movie; I don’t _know_ what’s gonna happen so won’t you just zip it?”

“You’re no fun,” Alec protested, elbowing you back, but with such force you bumped and ended up almost on Aziraphale’s lap at your other side. The angel scrunched his nose, helping you, and Crowley’s sunglasses hid murderous intend behind them. For a few minutes it was quiet, you lot laughing accordingly to whatever was happening in the film. Peace wouldn’t last, however, and Alec elbowed you once more, feigning interest. “So?”

You rolled your eyes. “‘So’, what?”

“So... Was that your boyfriend or what? The one that gave you that ugly bag.”

“No,” you answered, cutting the conversation short.

“No? Not your bf?” he kept nagging, and you hated the question-to-answer-question even more than you usually did. “But he had your clothes, yes? Your pj’s, to be more precise. Who else could he be? And don’t you go around telling me this sweater is yours ‘cause we both know you’re broke, and this crap is fancy as Hell,” he insisted, pinching the material of the sweater. You swatted his hand away angrily, but he had already built up a whole backstory for your mysterious man, it seemed. “Just you wait until Ma hears about it! What’s his name, how long have you been together-?”

The insides of your mouth felt bitter, your jaws worked on their own volition and you frowned at his shameless attempt at extracting information from you. He was your little brother and you loved him, water of the womb and all that, but it wouldn’t be the first neither the last time he used things you had told him privately for his advantage with your family. He was mama’s little boy, and currently they were fighting, and you knew he needed some leverage to get back on her good side and return to his spoiled life. To be fair, you had expected him to start the prodding way sooner, but it stung, nonetheless.

“I said we’re not together,” you insisted, refusing to give him anything. But Alec was relentless, a vulture that had spotted a carcass and now was heading down to feast regardless of the stink eye you were glaring at him with.

“...oh!” Alec clapped his hands loudly , and you felt Aziraphale in surprise flinch at your side, his body unbearably tense. Your frown deepened, but that didn’t stop your brother. “That’s why you were late today. Alright, alright -well, I was just wondering, no need to get like that-, so you _did_ get-”

“No,” you hissed, “I wasn’t getting _dicked_ and he’s not my boyfriend. End of the conversation.”

Aziraphale and Crowley kept silent, uncomfortably, if you were to put an adverb to it, and you wanted the topic to be over, immensely glad that you had stopped Gabriel from meeting this idiot that was your sibling. _Two days, one night_ , you thought, mind strained from the need to snark at your brother and just kick him out to the streets so he could learn some manners.

“I mean, you say _that,_ but it’s pretty obvious-” You sent him a poisonous glare and he finally abandoned the topic, expression sullen and accusatory, as if you shushing him quiet was the ultimate transgression. “Alright, go easy on me.”

Two films later, when all methods to shut Alec up were thoroughly tried and failed miserably, you lot just gave up, calling it a night. Aziraphale and Crowley wished you both a good night, one more sincerely than the other, and headed back to the second floor as you changed sides on the couch, made room and straightened the sheets while Alec brushed his teeth.

You didn’t want to overthink it. Your brother had no right into your business, and he should respect your limits and your boundaries, especially when they were so fucking clear. Still, you hadn’t gotten that angry with your co-workers and their constant suggestions about you hooking up with Gabriel or dating him or whatever. But they were teasing, and it was all good-natured and they stopped when asked. It was not such a difficult thing to do, and if people you had known for not even a year could respect them, well... shame on your brother! Shame, shame!

It’s not like there was something bad about dating Gabriel.

God _forbid_ there was something bad about it.

Not that you wanted to date him.

But you were wary, and armoured, and the line between your little brother and the family of hyenas he answered to was even blurrier than you remembered. You had worked _so hard_ to build up your life here in England, and Gabriel was such a big part of it, and if Alec went and rattled you out... You were an adult, and no one could force you to do something you didn’t want to do. Your family could not hunt you down and drag you back with them. They _couldn’t_ and you knew it, and yet the fear of it happening, if childish, was strong enough to make your insides twist.

You know what you wanted? His stupid by-the-book reasoning. You wanted to grab your phone and call Gabriel now, at ungodly o’clock, and have him promise everything would be alright and that you were just spiralling again, and that neither work nor family could touch you because you were _safe_. And, if you actually went through it, you _knew_ he would pick up and do exactly that because he was fucking transparent, far too good for you and your dramas and you _knew_ him.

You had come so fucking far with your life and your everything and you would be _damned_ if anyone dared to fuck that up for you.

So, when Alec returned from the bathroom and made room for himself at your side - _where Gabriel should be_ , you thought, picturing that dumb carnival weekend, _not him_ -, you were more than a little defensive. He must had felt it, or just looked at the rigid lines your body made under the sheets and connected the dots. The point was he just got comfortable, mumbled a goodnight and slept.

You were left alone with your guard up, your mind fortified and your tongue ready to slay anyone who dared question you. There wasn’t a person in the bookshop who would do that now, but you were so tense, thoughts racing, that you didn’t care. You didn’t have a pleasant night, despite the insulting comfort of the couch-bed you were sleeping on, but the nightmares left you alone.

That had to count as a win.

* * *

Aziraphale was ready to chain you down to the kitchen chair, you could see it in his eyes, and the only thing between that wild impulse and your destiny was literally the table. Crowley was laughing is ass off, butt perched on the kitchen counter, as he watched the scene develop in front of his eyes.

You took a careful step to the right, mirroring the one Aziraphale had just taken but in the other direction, and hurried your brother. He had not even tried to stop the blonde when he had shoved at him plate with toast, then fruit, then a cup with hot chocolate and pushed his ass down for fry-up. The shopkeeper had another cup ready in his hands, and was determined to keep you for breakfast too, finding it outrageous that you even thought he would let you leave the bookshop without a proper meal in your stomach.

“Do take a seat,” he said sweetly, speaking above Crowley’s snickers.

“The toast is so good,” supported Alec, mouth and its surrounds covered in crumbs and marmalade.

“Made the bread myself,” added the angel, and you kept circling him. “Fresh from this morning.”

You squinted and laughed. “How on Earth is that possible. Do you even sleep?”

Aziraphale smiled wider, and you wanted to croon at him because fuck it if Crowley hadn’t gotten himself one fine piece of a boyfriend right there. The grandma energy was big in this one. “I’ll answer that after you eat.”

Bargaining now, huh? Crowley guffawed, and Aziraphale swatted his thigh. “I ate like a pig last night, I’m still full!”

“Coffee, then. A beverage should do it.”

“Nope.”

“Coco! You can’t say no to coco,” and his tone indicated that if you did say no to ‘coco’, you were on your way to shatter his heart.

You sighed the sigh of the long-suffering but sat down, making sure to smack the redhead for laughing at your defeat. Crowley just snickered harder, wheezing like some deflating bagpipes, his sunglasses crooked with how hard his shoulders shook. You rolled your eyes. “Coco, please.”

Two cups and a half of chocolate later -because Aziraphale kept filing it to the brim whenever you looked away, insisting that, if you kept refusing to eat anything, he had to make sure you would last more than an hour out there on the miserable, _unforgiving_ streets-, you and Alec had packed your stuff and were ready to go. You made sure to thank the couple profusely for what they had to put up with the two of you, and they both shushed you and dismissed your words.

“It was a pleasure,” said the angel and you saw right through his words the compassion he looked at you with when glazing back at your brother. You squeezed his hand, nonetheless, knowing he hadn’t had to go that hard and that far for you and your problems. Yet you didn’t want his pity, and were grateful that he stopped talking there, not mentioning anything else.

“Still-”

“Shut it already,” cut you Crowley, pinching your cheeks together and popping your lips like a fish. “T’was the least we could do.”

You poked your tongue out at him.“...You’re blushing, and you know I can see it, right.”

As his boyfriend giggled, Crowley turned your around and pushed you out of the bookshop, doing the equivalent to a brutal keysmash with his mouth. “Get the fuck outa’ here!” 

Alec waited for you and you made your way through the increasingly crowded streets, in search for the subway so you could do a bit of tourism for the day. You knew you could have a good time together as long as you kept things light-hearted, and you were determined to make the day count. Alec had other plans, it seemed, and you cried for your wallet when he raised his hand and a taxi stopped by to pick you up.

“Fine,” you conceded as he hopped in, rolling your eyes. You followed in after him, squeezing in the backseat both your bodies and your backpacks. The bag-body ratio was kind of unfair considering his bag was as big as your body, and he occupied twice the space you did, and you felt zippers and seatbelts poking you everywhere, but managed to secure yourself in the taxi as it hit the road. “So, where to? There are many places I’m sure you haven’t seen since the last time you came-”

“The airport,” he said, more to the driver than to answer you. Your mouth clicked shut, and you blinked at him, dumfounded. He laughed at your face, patting you hard on the arm. “What? I said two days, right? Halloween is the day after tomorrow, and I need to be back to rest and be ready to raid the ‘hood.”

“To raid the ‘hood, yeah,” you chirped sceptically. “I know that; but, like, it’s still morning? I thought you were leaving tonight or something...”

“Nope, Pops’ cooking today and I wanna’ see if there’s some leftover-”

“-spaghetti,” you completed. You two laughed, that was the only thing your father was able to prepare without setting the kitchen on fire, and everyone in the family had just given up trying to teach him something else. You shook your head. “A’ight, pissface, let’s get you on that plane.” 

The airport was appropriately crowded this time, your security buddy with the angry glare nowhere to be found among the sea of faces, and you shoved your way to the check-in mercilessly pushing the people off your path. Alec whistled while he strolled calmly behind you, at least two heads taller but letting you do the hard work, and completed all the procedures when reaching the counter, bidding his backpack goodbye as it disappeared on the trail. You could tell he wasn’t looking forward the hours inside a flying can ahead of him, but he was determined to get that spaghetti. You couldn’t blame him, really, because it was really good, and your father always ate for three people instead of just one, so his chances were precarious at best.

Heading to the security control, Alec suddenly twitched his tongue, almost tripping you. “Dang, I totally forgot!”

“What?” You fought the need to frown, watching him rummage inside his jacket’s pocket with great suspicion. “What it is?”

“The wedding thingy!”

“The _wedding_ thingy-? _”_ You repeated, and he handled you an envelope made with fancy, textured paper. The thing smelled like ketchup for some reason, but you could perceive some kind of flowery perfume hidden under it. Your name was written on it with thick, cursive ink, although no return address was to be found. You squinted, “who’s getting married?”

“Cousin Carol.”

“I haven’t seen cousin Carol in a decade,” you deadpanned.

“Yeah, that’s why she asked me to bring the invitation to you. She didn’t even know where you lived!” Alec shrugged, “I bet most of our distant cousins think you’re a hermit or something. It’s gonna’ be back home so make sure to book a plane and everything.”

You grunted at the prospect, knowing you couldn’t just say no now that you had the envelope in your hands. More money to waste, yay. And you had to fucking go back to your family’s burrow, too. Lovely. “They aren’t too far off...”

Out of the blue, Alec took the letter from your hands and put it in your bag, zipping it close with great impetus. He had a maniac grin on when he turned back to you. “You’ve got a plus one in there so make sure to bring your mysterious boyfriend with you!” 

“Hey! Listen here, you little-!”

But he had already broken into a sprint, cutting in the line of the security check to escape from your rage. He waved his hand at you. “It’s in August! Book a hotel too!”

And just like that he was gone, lost to the ocean of travellers that crowded the airport.

You rubbed your temples, rolling your eyes so hard you could see the back of your skull, and turned around. You were so using the subway to return to the apartment. Ugh, and you would need to borrow a bit from Gabriel to afford the groceries until next paycheck, so many taxi rides had murdered your assets for the month.

**_You:_ ** _Heading home now, he’s gone_

**_He With The Scarf:_ ** _Good._

**_He With The Scarf:_ ** _Would you stop by the store and buy strawberries? You were right; they were not too sweet._

**_He With The Scarf:_ ** _I must confess I ate them all._

**_You:_** _Ofc u did_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well~  
>  How was it? The husbands are already in the gig and Aziraphale is sort of freaking out! (Crowley's in denial)
> 
> I had such a big crush on Gabriel in this chapter because he's being cute and thinking he's being inconspicuous and yet he's just the most obvious fool in love I've ever seen.   
> .  
> .  
> .
> 
> WE HAVE FANART! And you can find it in my art blog in Tumblr (@kuvvydraws). You can also contact me thorugh my main, trash blog (@yatinga). It makes me so happy when you guys talk to me! <3
> 
> [I'm planning ahead -WAY AHEAD- but I did say we'll be having smut here. I want to know if you guys want me to warn about it in the tags, in the chapter's title, if you want some '*****' visual warning before it happens, or if you consider better to just integrate it within the general narration and flow.... You know, that kinda thing B)]
> 
> [[BTW, DO LEAVE IN THE COMMENTS SOME KINKS YOU GUYS WANT TO EXPLORE WITH THE BITCHASS ARCHANGEL AND I'LL TRY MY BEST TO GET THEM IN THE FIC. STAY THIRSTY, PEOPLE <3]]
> 
> \-----------  
> Smex update section [it won't happen anytime soon, just so you know]:  
> · I'll write a (*) in the chapters that will have smut to warn you guys.  
> ·Praise kink (for both)  
> · Hair-pulling (for Gabriel)  
> ·Dom/Bossy (for Gabriel)  
> ·Accidental stimulation (for Gabriel)  
> ·Wing kink  
> · Foreign language kink (for Gabriel)


	22. Sugar, Cats and Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go straight for once, and Halloween is just around the corner.
> 
> You couldn't be more excited.
> 
> There's cats.
> 
> There's whiskey too.
> 
> ...There's a sad Archangel as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya~ 
> 
> It's been a while, but I'm back with more content. And this is one long chapter too, 21 pages!
> 
> Buckle up, people, because I bring you today from the fluffiest fluff to the darkest angst :)

It’s said that good things shall happen to good people. Sayings are not very reliable in real life and thus the absolute opposite it’s also very commonly found. Whoever invented those expressions was ready to fuck up with people and never had a single regret in their life. But that’s just how humans work. If there is enough time between a bus stop and the other, people had the tendency of reflecting about their lives, their mistakes and, in short, basking in the stench of past mistakes because that was the burden conscience provided. Not everyone could afford growing morals.

You were no different, and munched guiltily on the fact that you were feeling rightfully relieved because your brother was finally gone. You were positive Buddha wouldn’t do such a dirty deed.

Still, you weren’t terrible. Good was a bit of a stretch, because you were convinced it was impossible that there was someone out there infallible and always in the right, no matter how Gabriel liked to puff up his chest at that description. Karma was on your side this time, considering you had suffered enough for one week in the expand of a single day, and agreed with you in the topic of breaks.

You deserved one, badly.

Emotionally, at least; the rollercoaster that was your brain trying to avoid a meltdown with Alec around, ever watching in case Crowley felt like upercutting him into the ceiling for being unnecessarily rude, had drained your willingness to put up with people down to zero.

You were ready to get back to your life.

You wanted your pyjamas, your couch and a cup of tea and cookies -or whatever sweet treat Gabriel had hidden behind the yogurts, on the top shelf of the fridge, thinking you were like a blind mole-rat and couldn’t see through the fucking transparent glass.

Your brother had visited for one day and you were just itching to do something out of character, destructive and festive, a proof that you were still in control of the things happening around you. Surviving a visit from any member of you family and being left alone, no consequences rearing their ugly heads, after that was a feat by itself. You almost didn’t believe your luck. This was the start of a beautiful week empty of nightmares and you couldn’t wait for the night to arrive.

You were buzzing and fidgety with energy, strangely enough. It was like a timer had been set, a countdown for disaster that kept you under constant stress and tense like the corded strings of a violin, at break point. And then the time was over, the frustration lifted and you were left with the impending sensation of an avalanche that was just about to happen but then refused to at the last second. Whether it was a warning, the calm before the storm, or a premonition for a well-deserved blanket of relief, it was hard to tell.

What was a definitive statement is that your nerves were struck, October wasn’t over yet and you were exhausted and craving some normalcy for once. Please. Too many emotions had left you tired beyond comprehension, and it was time to gain back the reigns of your impulses.

The mood was high and cheerful on the streets, everything coloured orange and black as per season, and you got a kick out of enjoying your walk back to your home, relishing in the autumnal hues and the crisp weather. It was kind of a bummer when you arrived at the building and all the trinkets and spooky decorations just stopped right at the door, intimidated by the invisible barrier of crude solemnity that tends to emanate from spaces governed by witches.

The bad kind of witches, you know. Like your landlady.

About whom you rather not think about lest that summoned her.

To be fair, there were no strict policies that forbid the seasonal decoration of the common areas, but it seemed like all the tenants preferred to lay low than put even a sad, plastic pumpkin lantern at their door, and don’t you start with the bat garlands or the cotton cobwebs. The point is, you were up to some mischief, craving some good Halloween fun, and the hag seemed out of the building or napping or something -because she didn’t burst through the door to subject you to a forceful third grade.

If that was the universe giving you a sign, you were taking it.

You climbed the stairs two at the time, in a very good mood for once. That had to be it, wasn’t it? You were going to be left alone and in peace. No disturbances, no problems, no nosiness. Which meant it was _your_ turn to create ruckus and damnation. You had been behaving like an actual person for far too long now.

You fumbled your hands in the deep pockets of your jacket, making a fuss with your feet on the mat, as you sang to yourself. There! The keys in your hand were chilly and clinked together in protest with a metallic chime as you tried to put them in the keyhole, the toy bell you had as a keychain singing with them. It didn’t help that you were hopping in your spot, frenetic and wiggling, bubbling.

“Gabe, Gabe, Gabe-”

The angel flinched on the couch, caught by surprise by the sudden noise of the door opening as if a lunatic had just tried to kick it down. After the slam came a strong wave of feelings, so many emotions his vision blurred and he had to blink it away, chest light. Gabriel frowned at you, the same look an indignant cockatoo with ruffled feathers would have in his purple eyes.

You saw him make strange motion with his tongue, rubbing his teeth with it as his lips curled down at your critter manners. “God gracious! Close the door and stop yelling. What’s gotten into you now? Is your brother gone at last?”

“Shush, shush. Shut up and listen; this is gold, hear me out,” you ignored his bitching, getting to the flat’s door and closing it with a swift kick. Gabriel was ready to protest at that too, one of his eternal rants about to start, but you jumped over the sofa’s back. He hated that fiercely, too. To catch his attention instead of getting admonished, you clapped your hands twice right in front of his nose, quickly and loudly.

Gabriel furrowed his brows further, a crease of annoyance now showing on his forehead. “Rude!”

You clapped twice more, even faster, ruthless, and he recoiled back. Well, it was easier to quiet him down and rant before he got a chance to recover, and so you tucked your folded knees under your body, bouncing on the cushion. You had just thought of the best idea of the century and had no time to explain. You needed to be on the go, and God would be damned if you weren’t dragging Gabriel along. “Go get dressed, we’re going out for groceries.”

“It’s midday and I’m already dressed, what are you- stop jumping. Stop jumping.” He gave up on his effort to get you to quit your motions as you fell to the floor, getting tangled for a second with your backpack and your jacket.

You could be so fucking dumb sometimes.

He sighed and stood to help you out of the mess, but you had made quick job of it too and were back up, restless. Your bag flew from the living room to yours, the jacked followed next, and then so did your shoes. You regained your strong stance, too proud of yourself for making it first throw to pay attention to his deadpan.

“I’m going to take a shower and then we’re out,” you told him, reaching for your socks. Off with them. Now the belt and-

There was a noise only audible by dogs.

“Why are you undressing here?” Gabriel whined, adverting his eyes even though you knew better than just get naked in the middle of the apartment. It seemed the possibility hadn’t crossed his mind, and he was modestly focusing on the floor now, doing his best to respect your privacy despite your blatant refusal to acknowledge his boundaries. Honestly, he just looked like a shy schoolboy caught off guard looking at girls from afar.

He was being cute and you were so going to take advantage of it. You wanted to smirk at him, but that would look far too evil and you weren’t sure if his prude heart could handle it, his face already turning a soft blushy colour. This was the man who had helped you undress a couple of times now and who had cuddled you mercilessly, yet you would bet all your money his hands were jittery, the way he was clenching them.

If you had a soft heart, you would let him be. Teasing him brought you great gratification, the knowledge that you could make him writhe in his spot with one single gesture making you feel powerful. On the other hand, following the teachings of your very good day, it was just as easy to give him mercy, apologize and reassure him that you were done annoying him.

Instead, the belt was thrown to his feet, reinforcing the fact that the more clothing that was on the floor, the less of it was on you.

He cleared his throat roughly, twiddling his thumbs.

...You were sure that had just been a squirm. It was kind of mean of you to smile, no matter if he wasn’t seeing it. “I just told you! I’m showering and then we’re-”

“Stop it. No more bouncing, no more _undressing_. There’s enough of that.”

The aura of emotions surrounding you was bursting with excitement, and it felt electric around him, charging the air up with an expectant thrill. It prickled Gabriel’s skin with goosebumps, and that was a sensation he had missed the last few days, even if now it felt a bit too over the top. The belt before him, something he only looked at from the corner of his eye, felt as menacing as a spitting snake judging by the wild pounding of his heartbeat.

You bit your tongue, shoulders shaking up and down as you cackled. “Pffft!”

Still, Gabriel held you by the arms, hesitant at first, and then realised with a quick glance you were just messing with him. He huffed and you returned his gesture with a cheeky grin, face split with a huge smile and still trying to bounce. “Oh, you’re so very funny.”

“You’re laughing too!” you snorted.

Gabriel shook his head but didn’t put any effort in denying it. The airy laughter coming from you felt better than fighting a battle for teasing, especially considering he couldn’t win it. Still, the temptation of rolling his eyes was strong. “Pray tell, why are you behaving like a rabbit?”

“It’s Halloween!” you answered instantly, humorously, ready to follow his obvious game about not knowing the- 

The sentence fell into a void of dead silence, the absolute opposite of what you were actually expecting, and Gabriel’s face remained the same way it was five seconds before, more concerned with your antics than with whatever you had just said, as if it didn’t held any significant meaning to him.

At your eager look of disbelief, the awaiting expression on your face and the pressure of a new knowledge he was lacking smacking him right in the face, Gabriel clicked his tongue, thoughtful, and then gave his best attempt at a reaction, sweating metaphorical bullets: “... I believe it has something to do with the peculiar decorations on the streets.”

You looked at him incredulously. “Huh, _yes_?”

The Archangel nodded to himself, proud. _Good_. Safe ground, that was one big-ass shipwreck he had just avoided. The palms of his hands were clammy, for some reason, but contentment swarmed through him, nonetheless. Of course, the merit was not his alone; so many months on Earth had given him the experience necessary to bullshit on the spot, vulgarly speaking - _apologies, Mother_ \- and wasn’t that an impressive skill to master, despite the seemingly sinful nature of it?

A new inspection told him you were waiting more from him. His confident smile became tight. Well, fuck. He was out of ideas.

Your eyebrows rose, impatient but still bouncy on your feet.

Gabriel tried making a list of the things that had changed lately in society, in search for a new right purely by sheer luck. He could feel himself starting to sweat. Let’s see... There were cats -all of them black, which had to be for the sake of repetition-, pumpkins, candy and _many_ tasteless body parts covered in what he hoped was fake blood. Truly, he didn’t understand the big deal about such an unsavoury presentation, and couldn’t get why you were acting to excitedly at the prospect of it. The aesthetics were truly revolting, if you asked him. There were skeletons, too; bats, some kind of green women with hooky noses -very clean people, considering they always carried brooms- and big hats and cauldrons. The air, under the awful city smog, smelt like cinnamon and spices, and he had seen white sheets with black spots hanging from some balconies, along with thick, hairy, hopefully fake spiders.

In short, it was just a big variety of nonsenses bunched together under some sort of transcendental pretext.

Gabriel huffed again, growing frustrated despite the trilling buzz of joy still coming from you. You held his hands to regain his attention, dragged your bottom lip through your teeth, chewing on it briefly, and he grew inexplicably hot under the collar for some reason. Suddenly, the top right corner or the living room seemed to be incredibly interesting. Your hands were tiny, and very soft.

He shouldn’t be focusing on that now.

Gabriel had thought estrange human traditions were over, that he had learned them all by now, but it was painfully clear that, despite his detailed research, he was wrong. You squeezed his fingers and it was very _distracting_. With a shrug, he surrendered himself to a new wave of social education. Luckily, you had left your lip alone already, which made it easier to pay attention to your constant shaking. A squirrel on LSD would have less trouble standing still than you right now.

Gabriel rolled his eyes and tried to get you to sit again to have a normal conversation, reminding himself that you were very much still dressed. You were having none of it, tugging towards your room instead, and the result was that both of you stayed exactly where you were, which was stupid and a waste of time.

The Archangel resigned himself and gave up. “And?”

“ _And?_ ” you parroted, and now you didn’t seem as amused. “And? It’s _Halloween_. Spooky time, scary season, Gorey-ctober. Now, don’t you look at me like that. You’re the American here, the one with the expertise. You’re making the calls now. You see, I want to decorate the apartment, and I’m sure you have thousands of ideas! Let’s go over the top. Pumpkin recipes, tissue ghosts, cinnamon candles... I want the whole package!”

That seemed to wake him up, if a bit forcefully. His teeth clacked once, twice, and he hummed.

“I don’t- That’s quite new, I’m afraid,” Gabriel confessed tightly, “...Never celebrated it much where I’m from.”

It was the wrong thing to say, you see. You exploded immediately, a small ball of indignation, a cataclysm the size of a tennis ball that made his hidden wings rattle and ruffled his feathers in anticipation.

Your expression was of utter disbelief. “ _No way._ ”

That made him feel sort of inadequate, and he didn’t like it; it’s not what Archangels should feel. They were _very_ adequate. And they didn’t have to know about ridiculous human festivities. Gabriel scoffed, now taking defensive stand. “Is it that important?”

The bouncing started again, and now you had some sort of maniac glint in your eyes that he wasn’t sure he liked, even if the excitement in you had just skyrocketed, sending chills down his spine. You shook his grip off your hands and rushed to your room, skipping half of the steps in favour of tripping over your own feet. “Oh, oh, you’re in for a treat. Pun _intended._ Go get dressed, something that can be taken off easily.”

“Uhh,” he spluttered, “I beg your pardon?”

You were talking about the possibility of getting costumes, but his nervousness was delightful. Your laughter was raucous, a very happy sound that shook him head to toes. “Just do as I say!”

* * *

While Gabriel had noticed the peculiar orange and black _everything_ indeed, he had paid it no mind. Again, he considered it some sort of folklore manifestation, or adoration, or something like that. Festivity-related mass hysteria, if you will. He wasn’t against paganism per se, since it was all Her -She had many forms, it was undeniable-, but the randomness of the figures and the symbolism that surrounded him without rhyme or reason had him irremediably lost.

You, on the other hand, were like a child in a metaphorical candy shop. It wasn’t a literal one because you had actually dragged him to a mall and not a candy shop, although if there was one in the building, the Archangel was sure you would end up in there sooner or later. It was a matter of time, not a hypothesis; you had a sixth sense when it came to sugar.

And your aforementioned sixth sense was tingling like crazy. Oh, the possibilities, the paths that just opened before your eyes! You reached for the shelf and held the bag up, patted it a couple of times for good measure and turned to Gabriel, half a pout already finding its way to your mouth. “Promise you won’t hide this from me.”

“It’s a bag of flour. What could you ever do to make me take it away? Eat it one spoonful at the time?” he pointed, and then, as he finished his sentence, a bad shiver went through him. Your roommate looked at you again, gears turning in his head, with the suspecting fear a cat owner has when they leave an unsupervised glass of water too close to the edge. You glanced up at him, innocently, but he wasn’t fooled. Options were only limited by imagination and you had _gallons_ of that. Better not risk it. “If you do intend on eating it, then, please, let me know immediately because you almost died last time when you tried to do that with the cinnamon.”

“Don’t be a baby! I was _drunk_.”

“You had one beer and almost died. You know w-? Just give it here.” And he purposely hid it under the other products you had already shoved in the cart. There was butter, even more cinnamon, hard candy and illegal amounts of chocolate in every shape and form conceivable. He saw you check your phone, satisfied and humming something, as you consulted some sort of cooking web. “What else?”

“Sugar.”

“We have that in the apartment.”

“You sure?”

“Very,” Gabriel insisted dryly, pushing the cart to the next aisle. He was heading for the fruit section.

 _Your ass doesn’t count,_ you wanted to argue, but thought better of it. 

It was funny, how much effort Gabriel put into not looking at the arterial death the contents of the cart promised, as he took his sweet time deciding which apples were better, and which lemons, and then the berries. He handpicked everything and you let him do his thing, amused when he just when for the heaviest crate of strawberries the second he spotted them.

Again, he was doing one of his Gabriel Oddities **™** and you had given up trying to figure out what the method was or how had he learned it. Every time you asked, he just smiled knowingly at you, like he had a big secret, and changed the topic. You wanted to call bullshit on him, but lacked the supporting evidence, and the more you protested, the more he gave you that shit-eating grin. So now you lived like an aged, clueless Chihuahua of sorts, ignorant of what happened around you but being subjected to the decisions other people made in your stead because you weighted, like, three hypothetical kilos and lost track of reality every ten minutes.

The results of giving your roommate free will? No matter how, the fruits he picked were always the sweetest, juicy and flavourful. The surprise bitterness, betrayal made physical, that some fruits had -particularly citrus, even if you were a fan of the tang- was the reason why you had stopped eating them altogether, and only consumed them in juice. There was so much sass and cheekiness you could tolerate from fruit. You were just a little, imperfect human with simple cravings.

The moment Gabriel discovered this idiotic reluctance of yours, however, he put his foot down and your fate was sealed; his indignation knew no boundaries nor barriers. Because of this, many afternoons had found you sitting on the couch or the kitchen, him peeling an orange and sharing it with you, no matter how hard you refused in the beginning, over a movie or a show or a healthy discussion. If you were home by the time he was having breakfast, you got at least one mandatory bite out of whatever he was eating, too. You didn’t do it on purpose, but he would just hand you a slice of something and you ended up accepting it blindly, mindlessly, whatever it was.

It was like living with an obsessed nutritionist and a mom friend at the same time.

Gabriel’s tongue clicking, a sound he tended to make when pondering, brought you back. He was looking at a pyramid of crates thoughtfully, a bright cardboard sheet written with highlighters and markers pointing arrows at them and marking them as a novelty product. The Archangel headed there like a moth to a flame.

“These are new, too? I haven’t tried them yet. Are they good?”

You looked at the passion fruits, actually seen them now, and nodded vigorously. They looked ripe and your mouth watered at the thought of them. “Oh, yes, absolutely. They are so sweet. Also, _maracuyá_ shakes are so good. Healthy too, so don’t look at me like that! No judging.”

“I’ll stop judging you if the next aisle turns out _not_ to be the biscuits’ one.”

“...That was uncalled for and unnecessary ‘cause that’s exactly where we’re going.”

Gabriel pinched your nose for that and returned to the passion fruit, seeming to consider its possibilities. He was not a big fan of sweetness, but he could miracle that away whenever, so it wasn’t a relevant discouragement. The fruits were small, the size of a closed fist, round and of a purple and reddish hue. “The paper here says they have many vitamins too... What’s an aphrodisiac?”

“- _what_?”

You twisted your head and looked at the paper Gabriel was tapping with his finger with owlish eyes. Right above the price in thick, bold letters, the word ‘APRHODISIAC’ made a strong statement for the buyers to notice. _Someone_ was an enthusiastic encourager of sexual encounters, it seemed. Your stomach dropped, teeth gritting together, and you cursed the store and whomever was responsible for that atrocity. 

The Archangel nodded helpfully, as if you hadn’t seen it right the first time, and thumbed the tag once more, still interested as to what could that word mean that had put such a blank, waxy expression on your face. He bent down as to inspect it more closely, but the information displayed didn’t change after that second round, unsurprisingly. “It says they’re an aphrodisiac-”

“Mmkay, no, no, don’t get them.”

Huh.

...Well, wasn’t that just _curious._

A more meticulous inspection had Gabriel calculating how many would be appropriate to buy, and he savoured your mortified face as he picked them. The more that found their way into the hair-thin plastic bag the store provided, the redder your face got. The way to measure how many he wanted to get was to keep putting fruits in until you had to turn your face away. Ah, delightful. Until eight, your eyes just got bigger and bigger. The tenth made your jaw open in disbelief.

 _Thirteen_ was the magic number.

He made a throaty rumble of satisfaction. “So, do you perhaps know the reason as to why they are called passion fruit?”

“No, I _don’t_.”

Gabriel gave you a charming smile, and you kicked the cart in vengeance, making it crash against his hip. He kept the toothy gesture regardless, sharp as a weapon, aimed at you with unfazed calm. “Seems to me like you’re lying.”

“Fuck off. Can we just go to the cookie aisle already?” 

* * *

Gabriel had learnt to smell trouble like a hound. Too many surprise hugs when holding scorching hot, freshly made coffee would do that to a person. This time, his subconscious told him you were up to something big when he turned around, interrupting the putting away of groceries, and you were nowhere to be found.

This immediately raised the alarms, and he abandoned all the junk food you hand insisted on buying in favour of protecting his physical integrity. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he was glad you weren’t there to see him jump to the ceiling in surprise.

**_The Midget:_ ** _I’ve handled the building door with my elbows but kindly unlock the flat for me will u?_

**_The Midget:_ ** _Wont b able 2 use hands_

He frowned, back still pressed to the wall just in case, took a quick look around, and typed his answer.

**_He With The Scarf:_ ** _What have you done now?_

But he got no response. The urge to roll his eyes became unbearable, and he unlocked the door just as you had requested before returning to the groceries. If you couldn’t use your hands, he was relatively safe. At least he would hear you enter. A small consolation, if anything.

The door was kicked open for the second time of the day, and you tumbled inside the flat, body hidden behind two thick, far-too-big-for-someone-your-size-to-carry, orange pumpkins. They had stickers where the eyes and the other facial features should be.

Gabriel took the scene in, almost not believing it, but rushed to free you from the weight when he saw you on the verge of tripping, arms like wobbly spaghetti barely supporting the massive weight.

When he held them, his height impressive even among angels, the top of the pumpkins still reached his eyes. Your roommate wondered how on Earth had you survived all the way from wherever you had gotten them to the apartment door without flat-out dying. Gabriel juggled the two monstrosities to the counter, grunting when his hip hit the table, as you flashed him a proud, smug smile.

He was relieved when he could drop them down, the fruits taking most of the space. He wasn’t sweating, but a wary look haunted his face, and he did his best not to turn his back towards the pumpkins. Something that big couldn’t be natural. “How have you carried them here?”

“Waitress’ skills, baby!” You flexed your inexistent biceps and hopped to the pumpkins, patting them arrogantly, “they’re so sexy, right? Total snip! The shopkeeper wanted them gone already ‘cause they were taking too much space on the window, can you believe it? You’re so beautiful, so beautiful!”

“Stop kissing the pumpkins, you don’t know where they have been.”

“Aw, you’re pretty handsome yourself, c’mon.” You patted them babies one last time, if only to see Gabriel clench his jaw again, and picked at the stickers with your nails. “We gotta wait until the 31st, just the day after tomorrow, and _then_ we can get the knives and carve them.”

Gabriel had seen the decorations you so wanted to put around, _if only to keep the spirits up, yes, you can laugh, I’m that funny_ , because you found sad the building was devoid of any kind of seasonal mood, as if frozen in time. Whether the landlords had actually forbidden any kind of embellishment or not, you were already beyond caring.

Your poor roommate had obliged because, honestly, what else could have he said? You had given him the puppy eyes, called him Gaby and squeezed his hand tenderly. He hadn’t stood a chance.

Now a plastic witch rested atop a pile of books, another swept imaginary crumbs on top of the kitchen table and a cute ghost with led lights rested between Sartorius’ leaves. You had made sure to place a big bowl of sweets in the middle of the living room, and Gabriel had replaced half its contents with clementines because those were too many candies at hands’ reach and you were a sugar junkie with absolutely no impulse control.

The Archangel looked at the pumpkins again, quasi fearful of their size, and thought on the whole process of emptying them, and then slicing figures through the thick outer skin. It didn’t seem like a clean project at all. Or a safe one, considering you were going to be involved.

“To be completely truthful, I don’t feel comfortable giving you a knife.”

You smiled candidly at him, jumping over the couch to pick a chocolate. “ _Good_.”

* * *

**  
**

It sucks, but life goes on.

You had raided the market mercilessly, gathered enough supplies to guarantee a nice day of baking - _healthy_ baking, if the internet was willing to provide, all for Gabriel’s sake- and the best pumpkins in the market all for your own. Also, there was not a fucking peep from your family, so you were enjoying your lucky strike very, very much.

In common tongue, this is called ‘living the dream’. And boy, were you! The rest of your day was dedicated to your friends, updating them about your brother’s visit, the cursed wedding invite that you still hadn’t shown Gabriel -there were _many_ opinions about this in particular, and everyone gave you their two cents whether you requested it or not-, and setting things straight with your boss so you could return as soon as it was possible to work in the restaurant, even if it was for the day before Halloween.

And thus, you returned to your much-celebrated job.

It had felt like an eternity since you last worked, and crossing the doors was easy, blissfully ignored by the early-risers. It’s astounding how uniforms -or the lack of them, depending on the general mood- can make you invisible.

Robbie was the first one to jump and greet you, a pitcher of boiling coffee in one hand. “Lo and behold, she has survived!”

You waved at him, gave George -his nosy friend- a quick hug and waltzed into the kitchen. Sandra, the cooks’ apprentice, had saved you breakfast. You greeted her warmly, looking with big eyes the couple of brioches waiting for you. “You’re blessed!”

“Now, now! Lower your voice, the boss hasn’t arrived yet but he’s about to drop by; he’s called Emily this morning and he’s in a foul mood. He had a big fight with Sara yesterday and she’s not coming today.”

You hissed. The cooks had the healthy habit of ignoring him when he was being disrespectful or yelling at people, and his stupidity knew no boundaries. Beyond the problem of how were they going to handle the kitchen with only one apprentice, the girls didn’t deserve such a treatment. “Yikes with that man.”

“I’m telling you. He hasn’t been that bitchy since you brought your hot roomie with you. One glare from him and the boss hid in his office for the rest of the day. When’s he coming back?”

You grabbed a bun from the plate and blew her a raspberry, dancing around her eager face and heading to the break room to change. “You just want to ogle him, don’t you try to fool me. You people are so obvious.”

Sandra laughed, but stayed outside in the aisle instead of trying to force her way inside the room. It wouldn’t be your first time smacking it close in her face to keep her out. “Not fair! _You_ get to look at him all day long. All of him, too!”

“Don’t be nasty!”

The break room was chilly and you changed quick as lightning into the uniform, munching on your breakfast every time you got a chance to. You had locked the door so no one could catch you in your underwear hopping around like a flamingo -which had happened twice before you took the matter in your own hands and bought a thick padlock-, and that’s why you almost screamed when the door that connected the back of the room with the street started to creak. The hinges had always been a bit loose and rusty, which could have been a feasible excuse for a few rattles.

The insistent banging, while weak, was not because of the wind.

Considering you had purposefully missed every scary movie that came out since you were six because you were a lamentable scaredy-cat, your spooky survival instincts were rather useless. Offensively so, for real. So rubbishy a normal human -not even a _bright one_ \- could get enraged. Which would be so fucking justified, honestly, because they reached ridiculously low levels and-

...Anyway, you headed for the door.

After opening it, the ugly sound of metal grinding together hurting your ears, you found the sight of the back alley before your eyes. Grey, dirty, sort of smelly and bricky. You squinted, looked to the sides, and clicked your tongue. The water bottle waiters used as an ashtray was there too, peacefully resting on top of a forgotten and limping stool. You rasped your nails across the door, pensive. It could have been the wind, after all, since it always defied physics when it came to alleys...

There was a wail, and something attacked your ankles viciously.

You squealed in delight.

Do you remember that dirty cat, the one covered in goo and stinking like a forsaken demon, you had found one dumb day at the restaurant’s door? There he was, still smelling worse than sin itself, but he had grown a little bit and was a tad cleaner too. He still had one Hell of an attitude though, and swatted your legs with mean indignity when you put a shoe in front of him, stopping him from rushing inside the restaurant.

“Well, would you look at that. Hiya, buddy!” you cooed, happy as a child on Christmas day. He hit you again and his claws got stuck in the fabric of your pants for a moment. Your heart melted. He struggled, got himself free and attacked you again mewling rabid and demandingly.

Listen, if that cat got a gun and pointed the canon at your forehead you would let him shoot you. His eyes were vivid green, his voice, high-pitched, and his temper fouler than an angry wasp. You were in love. These things you cannot choose. He was a little bastard and had conquered your heart first swat.

...He was so _tiny._

“Mew!”

Your heart clenched. With all the pain, you guided him outside and then closed the door behind you. He seemed to know that he wasn’t getting in the restaurant and glared at you with an evil glint in his eyes. Instead, you kneeled, pinched your brioche and offered it to the little pest. He bit right into it, greedily and shaking his head side to side in order to tear it apart. You made a squeaky sound only dogs could hear. 

It took you a herculean effort to stand up again. “One day, you little disgrace, I’ll be taking you home with me and you better learn how to behave. Or I’ll put you in tiny sweaters. You’ve been warned.”

* * *

A car honked hurriedly.

“One second!” you asked Robbie, digging through your bag. Your phone had to be somewhere in there! “Gotta make a call first!”

You heard George squirming through the front seats in the car to beep La Cucaracha with the claxon at you. You flipped him the bird and dialled Gabriel, and the guy kept honking sassily until Robbie physically shoved him back and strapped him down with the belts after a short scuffle. George was laughing like crazy, and he lowered the window to make dumb faces at you.

When Robbie noticed, he pressed a button on the driver’s door that rolled the glass back up and then another one that activated the kid’s safety lock. George’s pout was visible from outer space, but he finally sat still and entertained himself with his phone. And people said you were childish.

Robbie waved at you. “Be quick, traffic’s just perfect now!”

It took Gabriel three tones to pick up, and you could hear the vacuum quieting in the background. “ _Yes?_ ”

“We got a call from the HQ. I won’t make it tonight, sorry.”

An instant of silence. Then, ‘ _flump’_ , and Gabriel’s relaxed sigh. You almost could see him on the couch, stretching but already making plans to busy himself. The man was a machine when it came to schedule handling. “ _You seem happy about it?_ ”

Even if the Archangel couldn’t see you, you nodded, rearranging the collar of your dress shirt for the fifth time. “Boss just told us. Some sort of event, a cocktail or something... No idea, Robbie’s taking me there. They have an open bar and needed waiters so we signed in. Real fancy place, tons of sophisticated people, cameras and other security measures...”

“ _There shouldn’t be a problem, I take it._ ”

“...Doesn’t seem like a possibility, right?”

When the news had come, right after the end of your shift, you had been quite pumped. The day in the restaurant had been easy as a walk in the park, you had completed your established hours and yet you were still hoping for a chance a something a bit more profitable. There were no weddings scheduled for the weekend considering it was Halloween -a huge mistake, in your humble opinion- but you had wanted an extra bonus. Something to kick-start autumn with a big pay-check.

The call from the owner of a recognized bar for private events had come straight from Heaven.

The clients were in for a stag party, you were told; the groom was more than ready to empty his wallet in meaningless but expensive stuff, and yet the staff that usually worked in the bar hadn’t been notified right away. A dumb mistake, but one that was hard to fix when the seconds ticked menacingly right by your ear. By the time the director realised it, it was too late in the evening and the waiters refused to return to the place only for a few more pounds, so the guy had been forced to hire a catering company.

That’s where your people waltzed into play.

Robbie, who was not known for letting such a sweet opportunity pass right under his nose, had immediately asked around and gotten your party in, and now it wouldn’t be too far off if someone told you your eyes lit up with the sign of fresh cash.

...You weren’t an idiot.

Nothing had to go wrong, but it would be a lie to say you were at ease. If Robbie could still tell when you flinched as the car’s doors locked, you weren’t the extraordinary actress you wanted to portrait. You were working at night, in a gig full of drunk people, and it would matter not if their pockets were bursting out with bills if the result ended up being like the last few times.

You still had nightmares, and bad ones judging by the expression on Gabriel’s face every time he shook you awake.

And yet, you wanted to keep going and face the music, even if you had thought twice about it before actually saying yes to the offer. Your tells were easy to spot, and you had hidden your hands behind your apron because your fingers had twitched uncontrollably in fear, but you were one determined little shit. You had considered it all: the location, the clientele, the people you were going to work with, the schedule, and still hesitated for a split second when Robbie had assured you he would drive you to the door of your building no matter the hour if you actually wanted to go.

And you wanted to; to step up your game, to return to the nitty-gritty and forfeit others’ influence in your life to command your actions and choices.

You didn’t have to call Gabriel, and many outsiders would think you were asking permission to go, telling him where and with who were you going to be. Let me tell you, that’s exactly what you were doing. Not because he wanted it from you, or demanded it, or because you owed him any kind of information about your life and your whereabouts. You did it because it made you feel safer if he knew. Because you had been through enough already and he had been there, and, if telling him was going to ease the nervous beating of your heart, then there was no reason not to, and panic.

Right?

“ _Let me know when you arrive and when you leave, yes? Even if it’s Robbie the one driving you. I will be awake._ ”

You knew if you had him in front of you now, you would be clutching his hands like a lifeline. “You don’t have to.”

“ _I know that.”_

You were far more relieved after that conversation, and you didn’t flinch as hard when Robbie closed the door and started the car.

* * *

You’re quite familiar with stereotypes, unfortunately. You did not stand for them, and whoever knew you could assure that you would rebuke them at any given chance. However, if the world of hotel industry had taught you anything, it’s that stereotypes are usually right when it comes down to working for people.

What they say about rich people believing that the customer is always right and that money can get you anywhere and anything? These people you were serving agreed with it mindlessly. _Recklessly._ They were all dressed with flamboyant clothing, rhinestones and subtle sparkles for the ladies and expensive fabric for the men, and no matter the gender or lack of thereof, their fancy shoes glistened under the dark light of the bar.

You had gotten the chance of seeing the local fully lit, and you could say it was decadent at best. Gold, black, silver and mirrors, then the music system in a corner and the ceiling completely covered with either fairy lights, colourful lightbulbs or even more tiny mirrors. You didn’t know what those were for, all in all; you were just grateful the open bar was at the other side of the room, the farthest from the DJ and where the drunkards tended to hover, and closer to the candy cart and its kinder spirits.

So far, three hours in, you had gotten your drinker categories down to a T. The fauna in an open bar was usually the same and there were safety protocols shared among waiters to keep them guests in check.

There were those who didn’t like to tipple that much and were there for the snacks and the conversation -whatever could be heard above the deafening music, that is- and were often docile. Then you had your standard blottoes, swaging from one wall to the other to keep some reminiscence of sobriety as they begged you for more drinks; they were polite to the top of their brain capacity, which lessened and lessened with each glass you poured them, but remained on their assigned side of the bar. The pack of fleas, the usual group of single dudes that were in the party solely for the alcohol, the laughs and the ogling, had been giving you a bit of trouble, until you threatened them with cutting their drinks short -intimidating them with a sharp corkscrew helps a lot in these situations.

It wasn’t a big party when comparing it to the exorbitant amount of instructions the owner of the place had given you, but the crowd was already pretty tipsy by the time they entered the bar. They had popped glitter everywhere with small cannons, destroyed a piñata and dressed themselves with funny hats and enormous plastic glasses. There were garlands too, and every trinket they had brought turned out to be dick shaped. Real classy.

You could get behind that madness. To be fair, the bride had a very entertaining way of dancing and looking at her was making your night, and you had struck conversation with a bunch of girls, the bridesmaids or something, who were wearing dumb cock tiaras with LED lights.

The one who was ruining it, however, was the bridegroom. He was the drunkest of the whole lot, including those who had starter the party already smashed. While he was dressed the sharpest, his clothes were disarranged, and his eyes were mostly red, watery and lost. He was really rude, too, and you hadn’t liked it one bit. The man in question approached you again, the seventh time in the night, and you couldn’t run behind George or Robbie this time because they were too busy keeping the flea pack at bay.

While that strategy of cat and mouse had worked for you before, now it was your turn to settle your elbows on the counter and face the protagonist of the night and his lamentable dragging of feet. You took a deep breath in and smiled at him. “So, what can I-?”

He slammed a thick glass of whiskey, empty by now, on the wooden surface, making the glasses quake dangerously. “More!”

You tried to take the glass away and give him a new one, but he fought you for it, grunting and snarling irrationally. _Fine_ , you thought grouchily, _he could fucking keep it._ You weren’t the one drinking his own spit. “More of what? Whiskey?”

“And snacks! I’ve been asking you to gimme’ peanuts for the whole night, I’m paying for this! Do you think it’s a joke? I could get you fired!”

You threw a couple of chunky ice cubes in his glass and then picked a whiskey bottle. He was at the other side of the counter and your arms weren’t that long, so you struggled to reach the glass. His face revealed that he was having fun at your expense. You grinned politely at him, not caring if the whiskey was getting all over the counter and not in his glass, as he was moving it so you couldn’t get it right.

But it was fine.

 _You_ weren’t the one flushing your money down the metaphorical toilet.

You nodded at him and put the bottle away before he could reach for it. “Yes, you paid for it. And I’ve told you you guys have already eaten them all. The peanuts are gone. There’s no more of them.”

He wasn’t pleased by this, and his face turned an ugly red. You pitied the bride. She had been polite even in her inebriety, and was beautiful and very charming, clearly out to have a great night of fun for her last day as a single woman. She was also marrying an imbecile, considering the man you had in front of you. “I paid for a lot; they can’t be gone!”

“Yes,” you repeated, “and you ate a lot, too. So did your friends. There are no more peanuts. If you think I’m lying then ask the other barmen and check it yourself.”

He finally left, glaring at you heavily and tumbling to the dance floor. You kept an eye on him, mostly to see if he was drunk enough to trip over his own feet -which he has already done twice, George was counting- and at least get a laugh out of his miserable ass.

Robbie passed by you, bending down to rummage in the bag of pretzels you had hidden under the counter. The owner of the bar had provided it as your only dinner, and you three had been nibbling on them eagerly every time there was a break in the tipsy flow. “What a douchebag.”

“Poor girl, huh?” you agreed, pointing at the cheerful bride with you chin.

“Yeah, but he’s loaded.”

George pushed his way into the conversation and the snack bag, getting a mouthful of snacks and covering his hamster face kneeling behind the counter. “He’s gotta’ be, considering the massive tiny dick energy he has.”

You made a yucky face and kicked him. “Okay, wow. Disgusting much? Can you fucking not- Hey!”

You waved at the man approaching the bar. While he was technically a member of the flea pack, he was the most sober one and made excellent use of manners considering his inebriation. He had waddled by every time he saw you weren’t busy to have a conversation. And even if you knew he was trying to chat you up and get your number, pretty obvious if you counted the many times he had asked you for it already, his words a slur, you liked him. There are no good drunks anymore, and when you discovered one you tried to keep them close-by.

He waved back, a tad unsteady on his feet, and the lady that now held him by the arm helped him regain verticality. She was far more sober than him. “My friend!”

“My friend!” you replied with a roll of eyes, following his game. Robbie slid a couple of towers of glasses out of the way right in time, and the man slumped on the counter, all rosy in the cheeks. “So? What’s your poison this time?” You pointed at the bottles, “you’ve nearly tried them all.”

“No, no, no. I’ll puke if I drink anything else. I’m starving!” he wailed, and you three shared a look. You shrugged and Robbie bent down, this time to find a napkin or something.

The woman by his side patted his back. “So sorry to bother you, he’s been at it for a while now...”

“Nah, nah, we know how it is. We have to keep you lot busy, and dancing does _that_ to you.”

Robbie handled you his payoff before skidding to his side of the counter once more, eyeing a couple of people already approaching with threatening empty glasses. You were left with a tiny sheet of papery fabric that acted usually as coasters, and you filled it with your pretzels before handling it over the sloshed man. “This is for you if you can keep your mouth quiet, a’ight?” 

He thrilled. “Oh, yes-!”

“I knew it! I knew you were hiding something! You bitch! Lying to my face! Lying like a fucking-!” The groom punched his way through the crowd from the corner where he had been watching the bar. His face was contorted with fury, his lips curled in hysterical rage. “Get outa’ the way! Fucking move-!”

The glass his hand was holding flew at you, and missed your head for a few narrow centimetres.

You froze and stood there, blood rushing to your ears and not registering what had just happened, as shards of glass and cold whiskey rained on you and cascaded down your back. The bottles on the shelves behind you shattered under the impact of the thick glass too, making a horrible noise. Your breath caught in your throat, your soaked shirt sticking to your skin, and you looked at the man without really seen him. Your muscles were coiled tight, so tense they hurt, as if they were going to snap.

He still looked furious, and raised his hands violently, sending the towers of glasses you and your friends had meticulously prepared earlier that evening crashing to the ground. Some customers started yelling, and jumping around, running from the dangerous chunks spilling all over the place.

George was the first to react.

He rushed by your side, taking advantage of his height to shove the man away from the counter, screaming. It was hard to tell which of them was angrier. In movies, a circle of spectators is always around the two guys having a fight, either cheering or protesting. It’s nothing like that in reality; all unfolds hurriedly and uncoordinated, almost blurry. They struggled gracelessly for a couple of seconds, the few guests around them getting out of the way as fast as they could, until George got a secure grasp on the man’s lapels.

Time could be measured in heartbeats, and you didn’t understand how were you still standing, your breathing shallow and hurtful, as they growled at each other like beasts.

Robbie flew by too then, hot on their heels as George pushed the groom through the door right behind the counter, that being one of the emergency exits in the bar. A few of the groom’s friends followed instantly too, as well as the bride. By the time you realized what was happening, you elbowed everyone in your way to find your friends. Some people yelled at you, or pushed back, but you used your size to slither through them.

The air was freezing outside, a cruel wind chilling you to the bone. Your alcohol drenched shirt made it far worse. From what you could see, George had gotten a few lucky hits on the groom, and the man had a busted lip and a few bruises already showing. Your friend’s nose was running, the lower part of his face covered in blood, and he was in Robbie’s arms. It seemed they were holding each other, while two men restrained the groom a couple of meters away.

The five of them looked rattled, and you could see the bride screaming and gesticulating savagely, bouncing from one group to the other, but it wasn’t clear at whom. You pummelled yourself towards them, but the bride grabbed your arm. You shook her off, nerves wracked and eyes big as saucers. You were sure your face of panic matched perfectly her own expression, hollow and terrorized. Your skin felt clammy and drenched in cold sweat, and your jaw trembled so hard you couldn’t utter a word. 

She started to cry. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay, did he hit you? Oh, I’m so sorry!”

A dog fight would have been easier on the eyes. There was a lonely streetlight in the corner of a nearby building, and it casted looming shadows on the face of your friends. The blood glistened as they shouted, still trying to lunge at each other, and your brain perceived it all as if you were underwater.

You left her there and went to Robbie and George. They started inspecting you madly, pushing and pulling at your clothes, grabbing your face, and you did the same with them, frenetic. If you were right, that ragged, panic-stricken wheezing was your own respiration. How could it be that fast, when you were sure your lungs weren’t actually catching any air?

The owner of the bar was nowhere to be found. The customers that had witnessed the events were arguing loudly on the streets, a chorus of discordant voices blaming everyone from the groom to George and you as well. It was only irrational, messy shouting without purpose, loud and disorganized, but it made your head pound painfully nonetheless.

The right thing to do was to call the police. You knew that. You knew _how_ to do that, yet the thought remained stalled in your brain, rigid and unapproachable. Instead, you dig your hands in Robbie’s forearm and tugged back harshly, stopping him from going after the groom again. They had been cussing at each other and you hadn’t heard a thing, buried in your own mind. The screaming picked up, the groom’s friends joining the rally with threats and abrasive stances.

This area of the city was brimming with bars of the same nature than the one you had been working at, yet all of you were interrupted when one door opened at the other side of the street and an unassuming man came out. He seemed to want a smoke, but stilled in place when he saw the pandemonium that was happening on your side of the road.

He pocketed his tobacco and hurried towards the brawl, booming voice demanding attention from everyone. “Hey! Hey! What’s going on here? What happened?”

He introduced himself as a police officer. The guests seemed to quiet at his words, mostly in fear of getting arrested, and moved asidw to let him reach the epicentre of the disaster, where the groom was still seething beside his inconsolable bride.

You looked at him, eyes blown like a rabbit in front of the lights. This agent, as he had identified himself, had an impressive body, bulky under his thick coat, yet his attitude rubbed you the wrong way. His steps weren’t that sure, and you could swear he had been drinking too, if the dragging of his words was anything to go by.

Against better judgement, you growled at him. “Your badge number! What’s your badge number?”

He stifled immediately, and so did Robbie and George, their bodies so close to yours it was like you three had become a cluster of distrust. George was hunched, and though his nose bled copiously, he was ready to fight again did the situation come to it. This attitude didn’t please the new guy at all, and he squared up, doing his best to address the crowd. “You cool it for a second, yes, lady? Now, everybody stay calm. I’m an officer, alright? Let’s try to cool it. What’s with all this-?”

The groom didn’t waste any time and started yelling again. George picked up the screaming too. Robbie had other ideas, following your same train of thoughts. “Your name and station, dude! What’s your badge number? Identify yourself!”

In the end, half an hour later and with the actual presence of the police in the scene -not counting the guy from the bar, who was indeed an agent but was breaking the law by refusing to show his ID and acting in an official tone despite being drunk-, you all presented a testimony. The charges, ‘pub brawl’ said the sergeant, affected both the groom and your friends, which meant they had to spend the night in lockup for public disturbance.

The whole stag party was dismantled, and the customers were ushered away. You hadn’t moved from the police car’s side, desolated and at the verge of tears, no matter how George and Robbie tried to console you, their wrists bound together with cuffs. It only made you feel worse, knowing they were doing their best to calm you down even if they were the ones suffering the consequences.

“You will see them soon enough,” tried to reassure you the sergeant, cutting your shushed conversation. She handled you a paper, a citation to assist to court. “The groom has asked for a quick hearing due tomorrow. You will not have time to miss them.”

“Do they really have to spend the night?” you asked, quiet as a mouse. You weren’t sure she had heard you, your accent so strong you couldn’t even understand yourself, but she nodded anyways.

“Can’t do anything about it.” She closed the door and patted the roof twice, and the car left. “Come on, pick your things and I will take you home.”

* * *

Gabriel had never laughed that hard in his life. His shoulders shook, and he had to cover his mouth. He was sure he had started to cry at some point of the night, unable to stop himself. At the beginning, he was sort of offended, but then the ridiculousness of the situation caught up with him. He had taken to watching documentaries, and while you assured they were reliable sources of information if considered with a grain of salt... Well, the people that produced the one he was fixated on watching insisted on trying to convince him the sewers under every single city in the world were brimming with lizard people.

To him, who had witnessed the process of Creation _in situ_ , it couldn’t get any funnier.

The night was windy and pretty cold for October, and he had rather stayed at home than go for a run, even if he had been tempted. Instead, he had cleaned the house and organized the kitchen according to all the baking and cooking promises you had made, chirping about pumpkin carving and spices and flour. While your excitement was contagious, he had also prepared the mop and the vacuum to be at hands’ reach and hidden as much sugar as the shelves would bear.

His phone chimed inside the pocket of his pyjama pants, and he reached for it blindly, glazing up at the clock on the wall at the same time. It was pretty late already, and that meant it had to be you letting him know your shift was over. He wasn’t wrong.

**_The Midget:_ ** _U up?_

**_The Midget:_ ** _Im omw_

**_The Midget:_ ** _bout 10’_

Well, what was that but great news? The Archangel hoped you weren’t too tired. Some nights when you had work, you were unable to sleep, and indulged him with your company if he happened to be doing anything interesting. Gabriel was sure you were going to laugh so loudly at the underground reptile societies the neighbours would ask for your eviction. To be truthful, he was looking forward to spending time with you, happy with the winning streak you had been enjoying lately.

As you had predicted, the sound of a car stopping by the building’s door was easily discernible in the silence of the dark, and Gabriel paused the documentary and rewinded it back to the beginning, not wanting you to miss a second of what he was certain was pure cinematographic gold. The door jingled, and it opened.

Gabriel froze.

You walked in, face stony, and dropped your jacket and your backpack on the kitchen table. Gabriel immediately noticed the pungent stench of alcohol and your drenched shirt, and he approached you quickly when he got the sight of your angry-red, clumsy fingers trying to deal with the buttons.

The second you had him close, you let him do his thing, grateful, as he undid the stubborn buttons for you. Gabriel gasped, horrified, when a small shower of tiny crystals fell from your shirt to the floor. There were some scratches at the nape of your neck, and irritated and swollen patches of skin around your shoulders. You saw his worried face, distraught but quiet, as if it was causing him physical pain to remain calm.

His fingers raised your head, pushing your chin up, encouraging you to look at him. “What _happened_ to you?”

You swallowed with visible difficulties, and your voice came out soft and wavering. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

Gabriel nodded. “Yes, yes. Of course,” he assured you, cradling your face in his hands as if you were going to turn into dust at any given moment.

He accompanied you to your room, trying his hardest yet to ignore the drowning depth oozing from you; it felt cold and unpleasant, like a metal blade, and just as dangerous and pressing as if it was poised against his neck. He kept at least one hand on you at all times as you got rid of your pants and picked a towel to shower off the whiskey, and begged you to keep the door open while you were in the bathroom.

The Archangel fluttered around you, touching you whenever he could, squeezing the flesh of your arms or holding your fingers or brushing your hair. He was a mess and it was obvious he didn’t know what to do with himself. You couldn’t remember a time when he had been this visibly upset. His breathing wasn’t worked, but his hands were unsteady and frantic, and his eyes held a storm inside them.

Despite your best efforts to try and think things through, calmly and rationally, your mind was buzzing awake, a hive of anxiousness roaring in your brain. You were positive you weren’t going to sleep at all despite what you had asked Gabriel, so you sat on the couch, plopping down as if your limbs were made with hardened clay.

Instead of sitting at your side, Gabriel kneeled down by your feet and rested his face on your thighs, eyes blown wide and hands caressing your calves. He told himself it was to remind you that he was there, but while the reason was solid, he did it mostly for himself. There was something about you that was telling him you weren’t really in the room with him, that your mind was far and unreachable, and your presence was distant, as if he was looking at you through a thick glass. Despite your skin being warm, he felt like he was holding a hollow vessel.

You let out a dry, sudden chuckle, and Gabriel shivered when his eyes met yours. “You’re not going to believe the night I’ve had,” you whispered, moving your hand and brushing your trembling fingers through the locks of his dark hair. Gabriel didn’t make a sound, but squeezed your legs even harder, towards his chest. If he was hurting you, you didn’t let it show. “And I thought everything was going to be alright. The joke’s on me.”

And you spilled the tea, telling him how disastrous had your night been, how the police had taken Robbie and George, how fucking _scared_ you had been. At some point, Gabriel had risen to his knees and shushed you, his hands cupping your face forehead to forehead. The expression on his face was heartbroken, and you felt the need to console him rather than to keep talking, no matter if your cheeks were covered with wet tear trails and his were dry. 

There was nothing else you could say, so you stood and tugged him up with you. His grip on your hand was so strong that, while he wasn’t actually harming you, his knuckles were white. “I have to be at the court tomorrow, let’s go to bed.”

“I’m not sleeping,” he breathed.

“Me neither.”

You two tidied the living room in autopilot, turning off lights as you went, and when Gabriel laid down on his own bed you followed, curling and wrapping yourself in his arms, your back to his chest, with a deep, weighty sigh.

Gabriel tried to find a positive point of view somewhere, anywhere, that could cheer either of you a little.

He couldn’t.

Instead, he tried to come up with something that felt worse. Anything to lighten up the burden in his heart. He contemplated the Armagedidn’t, Aziraphale’s betrayal, the death of Jesus even when he knew the boy would be eventually returning to Earth. Nothing made him feel better, and a ball of spite and bitterness coiled inside him, a biliary taste creeping up his throat. He could feel his wings, hidden in the air, writhing together.

He hugged you closer, your tiny body a small relief amidst the chaos.

You started playing his hands after a while, his breath warm on the back of your neck, comparing sizes and measuring his fingers against yours. He could close his hand around your fist, you discovered, with insultingly ease. You traced the bones under the skin, kneaded his palms and outlined the little clefts where his hands bended, testing the softness of the flesh and thumbing the grooves between his knuckles. Soon he joined the game, pinching the pads of your fingers every time you flicked his nails, or having little fights. His thumb traced your palm, and you heard him make a quiet sound of dissatisfaction.

Gabriel could clearly feel the ridge of your scars under the pad of his finger. Now it was hard to recognize the lines in your hand, the dim light from the street coming through the curtains keeping the room fairly dark, but he had them etched in his mind, the shape, the colour, the texture. Your other hand was the exact same, and the marks had a very distinguishable pattern when put side to side.

To your surprise, he interlocked his fingers with yours, a tattletale hum of frustration leaving his mouth, and pulled the fists to your chest, encaging you with his arms. The tip of his nose was chilly, pressed firmly into your hairline. Despite your body being welcomingly warm, Gabriel still felt like he was hugging a chunk of ice, so dark and distant he couldn’t even imagine what the centre looked like.

When his voice came, it was low and full of resentment, and you felt his lips moving and brushing over your vertebrae. “I despise your job. I despise the people you have to work for.”

You agreed, sighing. “Robbie and George are sleeping in a fucking cold cell,” you grunted, “and Halloween is pretty much ruined.”

“We can have more Halloweens,” he promised.

You really wanted that, and Gabriel saying it out loud was a small consolation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL, ENJOY THE CLIFFHANGER!
> 
> So, what are the general feeling we're having, huh? Is this the bottom line or can I still drag Reader down another couple of meters?  
> .  
> .  
> .
> 
> WE HAVE FANART! And you can find it in my art blog in Tumblr (@kuvvydraws). You can also contact me thorugh my main, trash blog (@yatinga). It makes me so happy when you guys talk to me! <3
> 
> [I'm planning ahead -WAY AHEAD- but I did say we'll be having smut here. I want to know if you guys want me to warn about it in the tags, in the chapter's title, if you want some '*****' visual warning before it happens, or if you consider better to just integrate it within the general narration and flow.... You know, that kinda thing B)]
> 
> [[BTW, DO LEAVE IN THE COMMENTS SOME KINKS YOU GUYS WANT TO EXPLORE WITH THE BITCHASS ARCHANGEL AND I'LL TRY MY BEST TO GET THEM IN THE FIC. STAY THIRSTY, PEOPLE <3]]
> 
> \-----------  
> Smex update section [it won't happen anytime soon, just so you know]:  
> · I'll write a (*) in the chapters that will have smut to warn you guys.  
> ·Praise kink (for both)  
> · Hair-pulling (for Gabriel)  
> ·Dom/Bossy (for Gabriel)  
> ·Accidental stimulation (for Gabriel)  
> ·Wing kink  
> · Foreign language kink (for Gabriel)

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback, either referring to the grammar, vocabulary, etc. (so, you know, language wise) or to the plot itsefl, is very, very welcome!!!  
> .  
> I will accept any and all forms of keysmash that you guys choose to dish out.
> 
> [There's fan art now, and you can find it at @kuvvydraws in Tumblr!]

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [By her touch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23071756) by [Kimale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimale/pseuds/Kimale)
  * [It's only natural](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23602342) by [Kimale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimale/pseuds/Kimale)
  * [Pandora's bottle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23733547) by [Kimale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimale/pseuds/Kimale)




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